


happy is the corpse the bullets fall on

by ViolyntFemme



Series: kiss me [5]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Bottom Merlin, Canon-Typical Violence, Eggsy/Tilde, M/M, Men in Kilts, Mention of M - James Bond, Mention of fisting, Mentioned Top Merlin, Oral Sex, Past Percival/Merlin, Past Tequila/Whiskey (Jack Daniels), Per usual - excessive swearing, Percival/Tequila, Rimming, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Harry, Weddings, as in two sentences, mentioned Bottom Harry, tho less than usual for these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolyntFemme/pseuds/ViolyntFemme
Summary: Ian, mostly, is a man of few regrets. He doesn’t feel any over the lives he knows he has taken during his time with Kingsman. He doesn’t feel any over the candidates who leave the manor in the body bag they get on the first day, though this is a rare occurrence, instead of on their own two feet. He doesn’t feel any when he thinks about standing on that mine in Cambodia that cost him his legs.However.There are times Ian regrets proposing to Harry.--------Harry and Ian get married, but like most things in their lives, everything goes slightly to hell.





	happy is the corpse the bullets fall on

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the saying _Happy is the bride the sun shines on, and happy the corpse the rain rains on_ , which I have always loved and found just a tad creepy.
> 
> This was supposed to be quick little bit of wedding fluff. 5k words, I thought, tops. Then they started arguing. Then plot snuck in. It honestly could have been longer but I had to sit everyone down and have a talk with them. This was the compromise we all agreed on. 
> 
> Also, this _could_ be read as a standalone but it would really make more sense if you read the rest of the series as I have tweaked canon in a couple places and this references some past tweaked events.
> 
> If you haven't yet. Go look at the new Part 1 which has become the cover moodboard by [thatgirlwho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwho/pseuds/thatgirlwho).

Ian, mostly, is a man of few regrets. He doesn’t feel any over the lives he knows he has taken during his time with Kingsman. He doesn’t feel any over the candidates who leave the manor in the body bag they get on the first day, though this is a rare occurrence, instead of on their own two feet. He doesn’t feel any when he thinks about standing on that mine in Cambodia that cost him his legs. 

However.

There are times Ian regrets proposing to Harry.

When he did so, he thought only of seeing Harry in that wedding suit he dreamed of before Harry left for Kentucky and didn’t come back. He dreamed of Harry’s deep, cultured voice calling him husband for the first time at the altar, then him screaming it while Ian gave him a proper wedding night seeing to.

Unfortunately, what Ian did not take into consideration, what he did not find in his meandering day dreams of his wedding day and subsequent honeymoon, and what he definitely, even knowing Harry as well as he does, didn’t think of, was the monumental theatrical nightmare that Harry would try to turn the day into.

—————

**One month after the proposal**

Ian sleeps the sleep of the dead, the well-fucked dead, truth be told, until Harry rips the blankets off of him.

“Wake up, Ian. Busy day today so we don’t have time to lie about.”

“Harry,” Ian says, cracking one eye open and glaring with what he assumes is enough force to make the man’s curls wilt, which they do not, “I've just come off of a sixteen day stretch. Last night before bed, you fucked me like a man possessed. I’m not quite sure, between the two things, that I can walk, and my legs are robotic. Leave a man in peace.” He yanks the covers back up, wrapping them over his head and fisting his hands in them for good measure.

Harry pulls them down once more, and since Ian holds them so tightly, the move pulls Ian up into a sitting position.

Ian takes a few deep breaths and thinks of all the reasons he loves Harry and all the reasons he wants Harry alive. At this moment they are piteously few. The top saving grace is his spectacular orgasm last night, and even that memory is fading fast.

Harry must have been up for hours. He wears a pressed, slate gray button up with black trousers. His oxfords shine. When he kisses Ian’s forehead although he knows Ian is as likely to strangle him as accept it, his breath is minty. His curls are loose on his head. This is about as causal as Harry allows unless they aren’t leaving the house.

Wait, why are they leaving the house?

“Harry, you have until I get my legs on to get downstairs and back with a cup of strong tea because if I have to get it myself I promise you'll not like the consequences.”

“One step ahead of you, Ian,” Harry says, smiling as he hands him a cup of Earl Grey and a slice of toast. “As if I would be stupid enough to wake a bear without a gun.”

“Did you bring your gun? You might need it.”

“I would think having your brains fucked out would have put you in a better mood.”

“It might have if you hadn't woke me up a few hours later in the rudest fashion possible.”

“You would have gotten more sleep had you not crawled onto my lap when you got home and begged for my cock like some common trollop.”

“You didn’t have to indulge me, or conversely, you could have said, _Ian, I am planning on waking you up at fucking half past dawn to go traipsing about London on some harebrained treasure hunt through multiple antique stores you have no interest in being in so I would suggest sleep, rather than my mediocre lovemaking skills, tonight_.”

“If they are so mediocre I shall not trouble you with them again,” Harry said, nose in the air.

“I’d have a fonder memory of them had I had more sleep. Lack of sleep harms memory.”

“And here I thought you were getting old.” Harry tugs the bed clothes with enough force that Ian gives up. He swings around on the bed to start the process of putting his lower legs on, still wincing at the familiar pain of his nerves connecting to the wiring inside.

“Still younger than you, Harry. No matter how old I get, I’ll still always be younger,” he says as he stands, wiggling his toes to make sure everything was working.

“Unfortunately, you will always look older. Not all of us can age as finely as I.”

“Like wine turning into vinegar.”

“You are doing well this morning, darling. Not only have you guaranteed I will not be fucking you anytime soon, now you have won yourself a couple nights on the couch.”

Ian slips behind Harry, wrapping his arms around him from behind, enjoying the texture of Harry’s body warm clothes against his naked skin. “Even if I go along with whatever Dantean nightmare you have planned for me today?”

Harry slides his hands over Ian’s and turns his head for a kiss. “Depends on how much complaining I hear.”

“I’ll be as meek as a lamb.”

—————

“Fuck no,” Ian says. “Not happening, Harry,” as he turns on his heel and walks away.

“If you will excuse me, my fiancé is having a moment,” Harry says, inclining his head to Mr. Keeds. “Ian,” Harry hisses as he catches up with him, reaching out and turning him with a tug to the elbow of his jumper, “will you stop for a moment?”

“No, this isn’t even a discussion.”

“It should be. It’s concerning our wedding.”

“Yes, Harry, our wedding. _Ours_. As in you and me. Christ, it’s just like our house all over again. You everywhere and me shoved into the corners where ever I find a place to fit. We only get to do this once and it will be in a place that suits both of us. The fucking Dorchester is not it.”

“It’s a lovely venue. It boasts an A-list clientele,” Harry replies, fidgeting with his cuffs. He knew this was a little out of Ian’s purview, of course he did, but he didn’t quite expect this reaction. And the house? Ian had given no indication he was unhappy with the house. Harry had thought he had bowed to Harry’s, and the interior designer’s, superior decorating sense.

“Exactly Harry, A-list. Do I look A-list to you? I’m a snotty-nosed orphan from Scotland. I like jumpers, whiskey, tea, and a quiet night in with my fussy soon-to-be husband. I don't like doves and white rose petals and poncey bullshit on my wedding day.” Ian takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, taking two deep breaths. He puts them back on and takes Harry’s hands, his thumb tracing back and forth over Harry’s ring. “Did you not think to ask me about this before you booked an entire day of appointments of seeing venues only you picked out?”

Harry opens his mouth and then shuts it again. No, he hadn’t thought. He thought he would pick out a few things he liked, Ian would go along with one, and then they would decide. On to the colors, which he had a few palettes in mind, and then the clothing, which also he…

He is a selfish prick.

“I’m not very good at this am I?” Harry asks, squeezing Ian’s hands.

“For a man who stood by and let me break his heart a million times over, you are woefully selfish with anything else. You’ve always been like this, Harry, but I'd hoped that it might change after all we have been through.”

“I’ll cancel the rest of the appointments, Ian.”

“No, you made them, we are going, if for no other reason so I can point out all the things we won’t be having and you can point out all the things that are a must, within _reason_. Now, let’s go back to Mr. Keeds and I’ll play nice. After all, I don’t want to be on the couch for a week.”

—————

**Two months after the proposal**

“Ian, love, have you finished making the list of the people you want in the wedding party?” Harry's voice calls from downstairs.

“I have, I left it on the table. I wrote _List of Ian’s Wedding Party Members_ on it on large print so even someone with your aging eye can see it,” Ian answers, swearing under his breath at the new piece of tech he was trying to build into his legs. Electrified toes. Now _that’s_ something no one would see coming.

Until they hit them square in the fucking face.

Harry comes up the stairs and enters the office, looking dismayed at the metal strewn about. “Ian, the page is blank.”

“Not completely.”

“Yes, thank you. I see the title.”

“See how easy that was?”

“We have to have an equal number of people on each side of us. We can’t have them on all on my side, we will be asymmetrical.”

“Heaven forbid,” Ian says right as the soldering iron jams into his finger. “Fucking hell,” he yells.

“Stay there, I’ll get a cloth,” Harry says as he walks into the loo across the hall.

“I’m holding one of my legs in my hand, Harry, where the fuck am I running off to?”

“No need to be an arse,” Harry replies as he comes back in.

“I’ll ram this up _your_ arse.”

Harry holds the cool cloth against the burn. “I am serious, Ian. Fill out your side of the wedding party.”

“How about Eggsy?”

“He’s my best man.”

“Tilde?”

“She’s my maid of honor.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “You don’t get a best man and a maid of honor.”

“I most certainly do. It’s my wedding day. I can have whatever I want,” he says from where he crouches down, holding the cloth.

“You'll hurt yourself, get off your knees.”

Harry looks up at him and winks. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Well, last night you had a pillow under them in concession to your age.”

Harry squeezes the cloth against his finger, hard, causing Ian to yank it out of his grasp. “Some Florence Nightingale you are. Fine, Jamal and Liam.”

“They are going out of town. Some festival or something. I believe it involves pot.”

“Harry, light of my life,” Ian says through his teeth, “then who, pray tell, should I ask to fill out ‘my side’ if you have already taken everyone we know?”

“Alistair?”

Ian glares at him. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. You can’t be that cruel.”

“He’s your closest friend.”

“He is also the man whose heart I broke when I brought you home.”

“Oh, right. Yes.”

“Jesus, Harry, self awareness. We’ve talked about this, remember?”

“Jason.”

"Oh my _god_ , man. Jason is nice enough but I will not ask the man whose mouth has been on your cock to stand beside me while I marry you. Shall I invite Claude as well? Let’s invite all our former lovers, _fuck."_

“There must be someone you can ask.”

Ian slams on his leg and stalks out of the room heading for the kitchen for a glass of whiskey. He loves Harry, but Christ the man was fucking clueless at the worst of times.

“Are we fighting now?” Harry asks following him, his hands resting in the pockets of his pajama pants like they were the finest of bespoke wool.

“We could. I’m mad enough to.”

“Would you care to enlighten me as to why, or should I leave you to stew over whatever bug has crawled up your arse?”

Ian grabs the whiskey from the sideboard as he walks into the kitchen for a glass. “Harry,” he begins, keeping his voice as even as possible, “surely you have noticed that there is no one to ask because everyone I could've asked to stand up for you have either taken from me or is dead.”

“You are overreacting.”

“I have no family besides you and Kingsman. I have no friends besides you and Kingsman. I have nothing besides you and Kingsman.” And it’s true, Ian realizes. His life revolves around those two things. It always has. Harry and Kingsman. Harry’s death and Kingsman. Alistair and Eggsy taking care of Ian so he could run Kingsman after Harry’s death. He, again having no regrets, regrets none of it, he has never thought about it before. It’s more shocking than it should be.

He needs to get out more.

“Maybe you should get out more.”

Thinking something, Ian realizes, differs from hearing some curly-haired bastard say it.

“Maybe you should think of other people before you commandeer all of our friends for our wedding. Fuck this, I need some air.”

“You are wearing pajamas, Ian,” Harry says, horrified.

“The neighbors will have something to talk about then, won’t they?” he says as he slams the door behind him.

As he walks down the street, his metal feet making satisfying scraping noises against the walk, glaring at every window he spies a curtain twitching in, he thinks about Harry. And himself. And how everything with them has to be so fucking _hard_ all the fucking time.

He harbors no illusions as to why. They, as they have acknowledged multiple times, are from different worlds. Ian, an orphan raised on the rod against his thighs and two meals a day. An orphan who worked hard for everything he has and holds on to it with the zeal of someone who could, and has, lost everything he loves in an instant. Harry, a privileged, poncey bastard who gets by on the beauty of his smile, the ease of his charm, and the confidence he will always get what he wants because he always does. Because Ian does everything in his power to give it to him.

And god how Ian loves his privileged, poncey bastard of a fiance. Even when he wants to brain him.

Harry doesn’t mean to be a prick. Ian knows this. Harry gives the people he loves everything he can. He gives his heart, his time, his money, and as Arthur, his sanity, but when it comes to seeing past what Harry wants and feels he should have, he gets a little shortsighted.

Honestly, asking everyone Ian knows to be in the wedding leaving Ian with nothing. As if Ian had anyone left in this world that would understand how important this day was…

Wait.

He does.

—————

Ian comes back an hour later to find Harry asleep on the couch, drooling all over the pillow and Ian thinks his heart might just burst from how much he loves the daft, disgusting, fucker.

He kneels down next to the coach and leans in to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

“Harry,” he says, shaking Harry’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

Harry blinks up at him. “Ian, I am sorry. I was an utter arse earlier.”

Ian smiles with a hint of sadness pulling at the corners. “You were,” Ian replies, watching the way Harry’s gaze settles onto the floor, “but so was I. I thought we’d have some tea and discuss this before it ruins the wedding we haven’t even had yet.”

Harry sits up shakes his head to clear it before reaching for his eye patch.

“If it’s giving you a headache Harry, leave it off.” Ian guides his mouth back to Harry’s. “You’re gorgeous with or without.” He stands and heads for the kitchen.

“I know,” Harry says as he follows Ian into the kitchen, patting Ian’s arse as they walk.

Ian fixes the tea, Earl Grey, and places it on the table with all the fussy pomp and circumstance Harry enjoys. Cream and sugar in china containers, matching tea cups, expensive honey from the organic shop down the street. Ian usually drinks his from a coffee mug so he can watch Harry frown but if he expects Harry to bend, he best learn to fucking bend too.

“We can’t keep doing this, we can’t.”

Ian watches Harry’s eye go wide, his face pale, and his hands shake as he sets the cup back down on his saucer.

“We can’t keep,” he clears his throat, staring at the tabletop. “We can’t keep doing _what_? Planning the wedding or being together?”

“Jesus, Harry. No,” Ian says, horrified Harry would even think either of those two things, sliding his hand across to where Harry’s grips his cup. He pries one off of it and holds it in his own. “Why would you even think that? After all we have gone through?”

“I am not the easiest person to live with, or love, or even be loved by.”

“Neither am I, but I don’t see you kicking my arse out the door.”

“What is it then, that we cannot keep doing?”

“I meant making decisions for our wedding without consulting the other.”

Harry’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Which is to say, _me_ making decisions without consulting _you_.”

“Yes,” Ian says, tugging on Harry’s hand so he’ll look up at him. “And I,” Ian sighed, “need to give you input instead of letting you make all the decisions and then get pissed at you for making them.”

“I am glad you said it and saved me the trouble.”

“You’ve noticed?”

“Noticed that you have had little to no interest in our wedding? How could I not? Half the decisions I have made have been to provoke even the smallest reaction out of you. I understand if you don’t want to go through with it, I do, Ian. I just wish you’d tell me.”

“God,” he replies, taking back his hand and scrubbing them both over his head and face, “it’s not that at all. It’s all so far outside the realm of my comprehension. You know I wanted ask you when you got back from Kentucky, and I would spend hours, before and after you died, picturing you waiting for me at the altar, but I never got much further than that. Well,” he smiles and winks at Harry, “that and imagining you calling me husband while you came all over my chest.”

Harry knocks his knees against Ian’s and looks pleased, his cheeks and ears a faint pink.

“But all of this,” Ian continues, “fucking venues and wedding parties and god fucking knows what other horrors await me is so much,” he waves his hands in the air. “I want to skip to the part where we say ‘I do’ and then I fuck you so hard you can’t move.”

“I never gave much thought to a wedding either. If I was to marry a woman, she would plan it and I would insert my opinions, and with a man, I never thought it would be an option. But my wedding to _you_? I want it to be… I cannot even find a word to describe it. This is important to me and I want it to be important to you.”

“I know, it is. I feel so out of my element here, and all this fussy shit you keep trying to make it into makes me feel even more out of my element. I want it to be something we both want, but to do that I need to help you plan it.”

“Yes, you do. And you were right earlier. It was wrong of me to commandeer all the people who we both love into my side of the wedding party. We can share them.”

“No, we don’t have to. You have Eggsy and Tilde, and I’ve thought of two people that I’ll ask to stand up for me.”

“Who?”

“Trust me?”

“Of course,” Harry answers, still perplexed. “Is it a secret?”

“No,but I want to talk to them first, and if they can’t then we will discuss this all again. Now,” he stands, pulling Harry up with him, “why don’t we go upstairs and practice for our wedding night. Wouldn’t do to do it all wrong.”

—————

The next day he stands on his podium in the middle of the new Avalon when he hears a polite cough behind him.

“Merlin, sir, I have something I think you should look at.”

Ian turns and raises his eyes from his clipboard to look at one of their new handlers. A young woman — who Ian would swear wasn’t old enough to drive, though he thinks that is a reflection on his age more than it is on hers — stands in front of him, her light brown hair in a severe bun and the creases on her shirt so sharp he’s surprised she hasn’t cut herself yet. She holds a stack of paper in her hand which he reaches for.

“What am I looking at, Elaine? And Merlin is fine. Save the ‘sirs’ for Arthur.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

Ian sifts through the paper. It’s online chatter through the darker channels of the web. Some arms dealing, some drugs, human trafficking, the normal things they archive and cross-reference every single day between missions.

“And why is this important?”

“If you look on page thirty-four,” she waits as he turns to the page, his eyes flying over the data there, “you'll see that there are a couple mentions of ‘The King,’ 'The Prince,' and ‘the Mage.’ It wouldn’t have caught my eye since half over these kingpins have ridiculous code names for themselves, but down at the bottom of the page it refers to ‘the King’s man won’t be put together again.’ It could be a simple typo, man instead of men referencing Humpty Dumpty, but I’d rather be safe than sorry and so I brought it to you.”

Ian taps his pen against his lips. Nothing was _overtly_ threatening about this. It could be a mere coincidence and not refer to Harry, himself, or he is assuming, Eggsy as the Prince, or Kingsman. It could be just as Elaine said, moronic overlords planning the death of their rivals and using code words to do it.

Or it could be their deaths in the works. It wouldn’t be the first time and it will be far from the last. But if these arseholes think to come for any of them, it will be _their_ last attempt. Ian will see to it.

“Do we know who this is?”

“So far all we know is that it is coming from somewhere in the States.”

He places the papers on his clipboard. He plans to go through them data string by data string in the quiet of his office.

“I need everything you have on this so far sent to my server within the next ten minutes. I also want this trail followed as far down as we can. You, Cardoc, and Ban work on this in shifts. You’ll take eight hours on and eight hours off until we figure out who this. I’ll leave it to you three to decide the rotation. If anyone finds any new information, notify me whether I'm here or not. Understood?”

“Yes, Merlin. Shall I inform Arthur as well?”

“No, not until we have more information. He’s got enough on his mind,” Ian says over his shoulder as he walks away.

In the cool calm of his office he picks up the phone and dials.

“Whiskey.”

“I have to admit I much prefer the new Whiskey to the old,” Ian says, smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m in medical. Last job went to hell, and I ended up with a knife to the shoulder. I’ll recover but the team here refuses to let me out. I have a new respect for how many times Tequila escaped.”

“Sit there and heal. How’s the former Whiskey? Tequila came back to us last month to help, but he hasn’t said, and neither Arthur nor I wanted to ask.”

“We wiped him.”

“Is that code for…?”

“No, I mean we wiped his memory and got him settled down in Virginia. He’s a hired hand on a farm ran by one of our stakeholders. Seems happy enough from what we can tell. Champ wanted something more final but Tequila begged for Jack’s life. Then he left to come back to you guys for a while. He needs a distraction, something to take his mind off of that fucker. Maybe you can find him someone to help with that.”

“Trust me, with the way eyes follow his cowboy arse all over the place, if he’s so inclined he can take his pick.”

“More charm and good looks than is good for him. Works well for an agent though. So, is this a friendly call or is there something I can do for you?”

“One of our people brought me some evidence of dark web chatter that has me concerned. It looks as if it’s coming out of the States. I as wondering if you could have Ginger look at it and help us keep an eye on it.”

“Happy too. Our new Ginger is like a bulldog with this kind of thing. If there is something to find, he’ll find it. Send it and I’ll pass it along, keeping you looped in, of course. When you get a chance, come out and see us, meet him. He’s a lot like you.”

“Handsome and disgustingly intelligent?”

“Drinks too much and has a problem knowing when to clock out.”

Ian laughs. “I'll get the information to you momentarily Whiskey. Talk to you soon.”

“I hope so, and congratulations on your engagement. Send a girl some photos and give my love to Arthur.”

—————

**Three months after the proposal**

“The final two recruits will take the dog test this morning. We’ll have a table of six named agents by the end of the day,” Ian says, eyes flicking across his clipboard. Six agents were better than none, he thought, but they were so…

“ _Green_ agents,” Harry says, echoing Ian’s thought as he poured tea for them both. Ian admired the economy of his hand movements and the way the lilac pinstripes on his suit brought out the chocolate brown of his eye. Harry sighs as he passes Ian his cup. “We have never had mostly new table. Even the beginning Table all had experience in espionage.”

“All of them have military training, with the new Beaumains having MI6 experience, but I shudder at having all of these new agents out with new handlers. Alistair can partner with one, I suppose, Jason can take another, and we still have handlers from Statesman left. Since Roxanne just started her deep cover mission do you think Tilde could spare Eggsy?” He takes a swallow of his tea. Perfect as usual.

“I haven’t decided what to do about Eggsy yet.”

“Pardon? Are you thinking about kicking the lad from the Table?” Ian feels his protective hackles raising. Eggsy was a fucking pain in the arse but he is _their_ fucking pain the in arse.

“Heavens no, Ian. I am trying to decide the best way to utilize him without compromising us or him. He’s a public figure now, and while I don’t think most of the world knows much of other country’s royalty, it stands to reason eventually he will come across someone who does. I’m thinking about using him to secure some more financial backing for us at certain functions, and other more ‘agent’ type missions as they come.”

Ian hums. Harry continues to talk while Ian mentally thumbs through the upcoming missions for something suitable for Eggsy.

“I am leaving your wardrobe completely up to you,” Harry says.

Ian chokes on his tea.

“For the wedding?”

“No, Ian, for dinner tonight. I’ve decided to allow you to dress yourself since you’re a big lad now. Of course for the wedding. I trust you to not show up in trousers and a jumper.”

“Do you think you should?”

“We promised each other we would meet in middle for the rest of the planning. So my request is that your attire be black or gray with this purple as an accent,” he says, sliding a swatch of cloth over to him, “and in deference to your input you can choose what that attire will be. The tailors will not allow you to come to our wedding looking like you’re clocking in.”

“And what will you wear?”

“I would like to surprise you and have you surprise me.”

“Are we spending the night before apart as well?” Ian asks, not liking it and feeling silly for not liking it.

“I’d like to.”

Ian frowns.

“We can spend one night apart, Ian. We’ve spent many apart.”

“I know. Too many. And I don’t want to spend any more than we have to.”

“Allow me this?” Harry asks. “And the attire?”

“Yes.”

—————

Three weeks later Ian goes up to talk to the new tailors, still being overseen Dagonet, who still can’t hold a needle but runs the shop with an iron first.

“Ah, Merlin,” Dagonet says, squinting even behind his glasses, “how may we assist, sir?”

“I need something for my wedding,” Ian says.

“Yes, your and Arthur’s wedding. He’s already been through his first and second fitting, as your should have,” Dagonet says, giving him a flinty eye. “We are fast, but your day is in three months, and we still have the new agents to outfit. We will do the first fitting today and the second next week.”

“I was planning on…”

Dagonet taps his finger against the signet ring on his hand.

“Telling you that schedule sounds perfect.”

“Do you know what you would like?”

 _Something in a nice hunter green wool with leather patches on the shoulders. Wool trousers,_ he thinks, but what he says is, “I was thinking a traditional morning suit.”

Dagonet momentarily forgets all propriety and stammers a “Really?” before clearing his throat. “And the colors?”  
“Black, with a black waistcoat, and tie in this color,” he says, passing the color swatch over.

“Excellent, sir, if you will follow me to fitting room one, we can begin.”

Ian throws his shoulders back and walks forward. He stood on a landmine once. He can do this.

—————

**Four months after the proposal**

Ian walks into the house and finds Harry at the dining room table, dressed in a tan cardigan and dark jeans, with a neat stack of wedding invitations. He is licking stamps in a way that Ian finds oddly erotic while humming The Ramones under his breath. Ever the contrary creature, his Harry.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Quite. I’ve always been fond of the taste of stamps.”

“You what?” Ian asks, pulling off his jumper and tie.

“Enjoy the taste of stamps. I have fond memories of helping Mother send out her correspondence as a child. I felt very grown up when she delgated me to stamp licking duty.”

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met,” Ian says leaning down for a kiss, “but I love you, anyway.”

“Good, because we need to have a discussion. I would suggest you get a drink. Or get us a drink.”

“Jesus, can I get changed first?”

“Of course. I’ll get the drinks. Perhaps you should also take of your legs so you can’t stomp out.”

“One of those discussions? I’ll keep them on if it’s all the same to you, stomping out is much more satisfying with them than my original legs.”

“But hell on the floors.”

“I’ll gently stomp out.”

“Doubtful.”

“Fine, give me five minutes to change and have a piss, but I am keeping the legs on.”

“Suit yourself, you’ll be the one refinishing the wood,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he goes to get the drinks.

Ian comes back downstairs in jeans and a jumper that he’s had since he was twenty. It was once black though now it’s a sad gray, the collar is moth eaten, and Ian has put it in his will to bury him with it. Harry has tried to bury it by itself twice. He hates it. Ian figures it’s fair play since Harry is going to start something that may piss Ian off.

Harry sniffs when he sees Ian but says nothing. This is going to be serious.

Ian sits at the table and takes a drink. “Well, let’s have it.”

“I think you should invite Alistair to the wedding.”

Ian drinks the rest of whiskey and goes to get more. Not serious. No, this is downright idi-fucking-oitic.

“No, Harry, I fucking won’t.”

“He is your oldest friend. He and James were _our_ oldest friends. We were supposed to dance at each other’s weddings.”

“What do I need to do so that you understand why I won’t?”

“I understand it perfectly, Ian. I am not an idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Alistair is an adult. He deserves to have the choice whether or not to come, a choice we will respect, but he needs to make it. He doesn’t need you to make it for him. Remember what we said about making choices for other people?”

“It’s not making his choice for him, it’s being fucking respectful. He was in love with me and I was, well, I was something with him. We were together while you were gone. If you had not come back, we would still be together.”

“I know, Ian. I'm aware that if I wasn’t here, it would be him you would marry in a few months.”

“I hardly doubt,” Ian starts, but Ian doesn’t have to doubt it. It may not have been in a few months but he knows at some point he would’ve married Ali, because it would have made Ali happy, and Ian too, even though he would have felt the specter of Harry standing there with them.

“It's gauche not to invite him.”

“For fuck’s sake Harry, how would you feel if this was reversed? Could you have come back to find me with Ali and been happy for me? Could you have watched me marry him?” Ian breathes heavy, anger and sadness and the small feeling that Harry is right, goddamn him, warring within him. Harry was also right to ask him to take his fucking legs off because he doesn’t know if he can do it, stand there and marry Harry while a small piece of his heart sits out there in Ali’s hands. He can’t think about it, he can’t bend here like he promised Harry he would. He wants to get away from the whole idea, and Harry, so he doesn’t have to think about any of it.

Harry jumps to his feet and runs a hand through his hair, coming close to Ian to refill his glass as well and then walking away once more. “It was reversed for a time if you recall. You were fucking him while you professed to love me. I stood by and watched you carry on what I thought the very relationship that you said you could not have with me. I watched and I ached and I raged but I was content with the fact that you could find happiness.”

“Watching me fuck someone else is a far cry from watching me fucking _marry_ them.”

“Not for me it wasn’t.” Harry’s voice is small. “So yes, if I had figured out who I was while in Kentucky and had come home to find you happy with Alistair. If I had to watch you marry him and could only be close to you as a friend, I could do it, and I would expect you to have enough fucking respect for me to allow me to do so.”

“I can’t, Harry, I can’t. I can’t marry you knowing it’s killing him. It will kill me too.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” Harry asks.

Ian meets Harry’s eyes expecting the heat and the jealousy that had surrounded them when they were young and in the throes of a deep, possessive love that burned them both to ashes whenever the other was with someone else. Instead he sees love, and acceptance, and fear that Ian will say yes.

And Ian does.

“Yes, I do, and I always will, but it can never, ever compare to what I feel for you. You have to know that, you _have_ to, but this is too much though, Harry. Please don’t ask me this.”

“We said we would compromise on this wedding, Ian. This is me compromising, this is me asking instead of doing, and this is me hoping that you will meet me half way. All I ask is that you give him the choice.”

“No.”

“Fine, I will do it myself then.”

Ian sees red.

“That is not a compromise Harry, that is not you _asking_ , that is you very well fucking _doing_ and fuck my feelings on it.”

“If you cannot bend, I won’t either.”

“Fuck you. And fuck your fucking wedding as well.”

Ian storms upstairs and grabs a duffle, packing it with what he would need for a few days away from the house.

“I’ll be staying at the manor for a couple nights until I can talk to you without wanting to ram my foot so far up your arse you’re spitting rivets. I’m going to ask you one more time not to do this, Harry. I don’t know what will happen if you do.”

Harry looks at him, his eye wet but his chin firm, and then he turns away.

Ian goes into the foyer where he jams his feet into his boots but not before he drags his heel down the wood to the right of the small rug in front of the door, yelling, “and fuck your floors.”

The door slamming behind him sounds like a gunshot heard across an ocean.

—————

Harry stands outside the door to Alistair’s flat with trepidation. The last time he was here they had come to blows. He hopes they will not this time, for all of their sakes.

He knocks. As he waits at the door, he hears what he thinks is a murmur of voices from inside but when the door opens, it is Alistair wearing jeans and a crumpled shirt, both of which look large on him.

Harry blinks. “Alistair?” He asks, wondering if he is having an episode.

Alistair runs a hand through his hair, pushing it into place. “Harry… this is unexpected.” He glances back over his shoulder and then back. “Come in,” he says, stepping back as Harry enters and closing the door behind him. “If you will excuse me a moment.”

“Of course,” Harry replies, still wrong footed by seeing Alistair in _jeans_ , jeans that are not his. He watches as Alistair retreats to the back of the flat. While he’s gone Harry wanders about, inspecting the books on the shelves — Alistair did always have some of the best taste in books — and then moving to look at the pictures on the mantle. There is one of him, Ian, James, and Alistair, all of them caught by someone Harry can’t remember, in mid conversation. Harry is beaming at Ian, Ian has his head back laughing at some story James had been acting out while Alistair looks at him like he hung the moon. Harry feels a small pain in his chest for the memories the four of them never got to make.

It is right he is here, doing this, even if it is against Ian’s wishes. Alistair is family. Alistair is _more_ than family.

“Do you remember that, Harry?” Alistair asks as he comes back in the room.

“I remember the moment, but I can’t remember where we were or when it was.” He taps his head with his finger right over his patch. “Not everything has come back. Most, but not everything.”

Alistair comes to stand beside him to look at the picture as well. “It was in the summer of 2000. You and Ian weren’t together although no one who looked at you two would have believed it, and James and I were still very much in the honeymoon phase. We took that long weekend in Italy, the four of us.”

“James almost drowned himself in the fountain outside the villa we rented because he ignored your good advice and drank everything in the liquor cabinet the first night.”

“There it is. Perhaps you need something to jog the memories. I’ll see if I can’t find some other photos for you to look at.”

“That would be lovely, thank you, Alistair.”

“My pleasure, Harry, but now I have to ask what you are doing here without even a call ahead to warn me you were coming. Is this another drink and brawl? Are you and Ian fighting?”

“No and yes. While I am not here to punch you,” Harry laughs when Alistair raises a brow at him. “Or embarrass myself again, perhaps a drink wouldn’t be a bad idea, if you have the time. Just the one, I promise.”

Alistair pours them both a drink and invites Harry to sit with him.

“So why are you two fighting? Tell Auntie Ali everything,” Alistair says, patting Harry’s knee in a faux consoling manner.

“We are fighting about you.”

“That’s not what I was expecting.”

Harry reaches into his suit, pulls out Alistair’s invitation and hands it to him. Alistair looks down at it but does not open it. Harry thinks he might see a tremor go through the paper.

“This is…” Alistair starts.

“An invitation to our wedding, yes.”

“This is what you are fighting about? He doesn't want me there?”

Harry can see the slight wetness in Alistair’s eyes but he is too polite to mention it. “He does, he does more than he knows, but he believes it is cruel of us to invite you whereas I believe it is cruel of us not too.” Harry leans over, takes the invitation, lays it down on the table, and then takes Alistair’s hand. “I know what you and Ian mean to each other, Alistair. I have no illusions regarding the way he felt and still feels, nor the way you still feel. And I know that this is one of the cruelest things I can do to you, but I also know that you are closer than family to us.”

Alistair squeezes Harry’s hand. “I appreciate that,” he clears his throat, “I do, Harry, but I don’t know if I can. I had hoped…”

“I know, Alistair. And had I not been found, it would have happened, but I could not, in good conscience, not give you the choice. If I overstepped my bounds with this, I apologize. However, I did not want you to think that we did not invite you because we did not want you there. You are always wanted. We are the only ones who remember the men we were together and I want us to become the men will we be together as well.”

“Ian said as much to me after you died, that he and I were the only ones who remembered Harry and James, not Galahad and Lancelot, and that we needed to keep those memories alive.”

“Ian is very wise even if he keeps his head up his own arsehole most of the time.” Harry stands after giving Alistair’s hand one last squeeze. “It is your choice whether or not to come. Ian does not know I came here, nor will he unless you tell him, and there will be no hard feelings if you choose not to attend. If I was in your shoes, I’m not sure as to what I would do either. All I ask is that you think about it, and even if you decide not to, we would like to see more of you than we have been.”

Alistair stands up and pulls Harry into a hug. “Thank you, Harry. I don’t know if I’ll come but I _will_ think about it.”

“That’s all I ask. Now I will let you get back to entertaining your guest.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are referring to.”

“Come now, Alistair, those jeans are not yours, and you smell of a cologne that is not your normal brand.”

“Well, all work and no play.”

“Makes Alistair a very dull boy indeed.”

As Harry walks out the door, he notes a pair of boots, _familiar_ boots, next to Alistair’s polished oxfords.

_Interesting._

—————

“Merlin,” Elaine says, knocking on the door frame, “we’ve found something.”

For two months Avalon and Statesman had been working in tandem to uncover who was behind the chatter Elaine had uncovered. They had narrowed a general area in the United States, mid-East Coast. They also knew that it was coming from one specific person or group, someone calling themselves _Nadie_ , ‘no one’ in Spanish, which was so unoriginal Ian wanted to punch them just for that. But they still weren’t positive that the threat was meant for them and not someone else.

Ian spins away from his desk to face Elaine, crossing his legs at the ankle and linking his fingers over his middle.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Ginger and I have found proof that Nadie is coming for Kingsman. They’ve reached out on the web for hitmen and mercs, hiring a group of ten. They have been communicating through coded messages on an obscure forum. We’ve been watching them and breaking down the code. Today they posted a message giving the locations of the ‘King, Mage, and Prince’ with a payment offer of $250,000 per proven kill. The locations given are the shop and the estate where Galahad and Princess Tilde spend most their time.”

“So they are coming. Do we know who the hired guns are?”

“We know seven so far. They are under surveillance and we can eliminate them upon order. We are still searching for the other three and _Nadie_.”

“Good, keep looking. I’ll confer with Arthur and let you know our next move. Please let Ginger know that we will contact him and Champagne soon.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

—————

Harry sits at his desk reading files he has no interest in about missions that he has done a million times that newer, younger agents must do again. His head aches. Ian has been sleeping at the manor for two nights now and Harry isn’t sleeping at all. He doubts Ian is either.

Someone knocks at his door. “Enter,” he calls and hides the wince at having to change the position of his head and eye to look up.

“Ian,” he says with relief. Finally they could talk this entire moronic mess…

“Arthur,” Ian greets.

Business. There is tension around Ian’s mouth and eyes. Harry is unsure of which it is from, their current domestic issues or the stack of papers he holds in his hand.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, it appears there is,” Ian says, sinking into the chair in front of Harry’s desk.

Harry reaches into the right-hand drawer of his desk, takes out a bottle and two glasses, pours, and hands one to Ian.

“Tell me.”

“Two months ago Elaine found some chatter on the dark web regarding persons referred to as ‘The King, Mage and Prince’ and the line ‘the King’s man won’t be put together again.’ Today she brought me a new message she and Ginger in Statesman decoded offering payment per kill of the King, Mage and Prince, and giving the locations of Eggsy and Tilde’s estate as well as the shop. The person offering the money is named _Nadie_. We’ve narrowed down the area where _Nadie_ may be, but we don’t know who it is, and we’ve identified seven of the ten people hired. If you give the order, we can have them eliminated.”

“In the interest of clarification there are hits out on myself, you, and Eggsy.”

“Yes.”

“We know who seven of the ten people coming for us are and can eliminate them.”

“Yes.”

“Consider the order given, as well as the blanket order for the remaining three.”

Ian taps a few things on his clipboard. “It will be done within the hour.”

“Also, in the interest of clarification, you, and Ginger in Statesman, along with a select few of our handlers, have known there was a potential threat for two months.”

“I didn’t know it was a threat until today.”

“But you knew it was a possible threat and yet you chose not to mention it to me or Eggsy?” Harry asks, the volume of his voice rising.

“I have kept an eye on this since we found out about it. Once it became a credible threat, I would’ve informed you as I just did.”

“Negotiations for the hit may have taken place elsewhere than the web, _Merlin_. We may not have known until it was too late. Until I had a second bullet in my brain, or you had one, or even worse, we got a call saying Eggsy had paid the price for your mistake.”

“I wasn’t going to worry you over something that might have been nothing.”

“As Merlin of this organization you are duty bound to inform me of threats against us, be it personally or Kingsman as a whole. I had a right to know, and Eggsy had a right to know, especially since he is married to a fucking Crown Princess. Could you imagine the ramifications of us allowing a member of the _royal fucking family_ to be killed?”

“Harry, I…”

“No, Merlin. This is unacceptable. I will call Eggsy and inform him of this threat. I will ask that he send Tilde to the palace or bring her here, but he, I, and you will stay at the manor until we this have neutralized. Has there been mention of our home?”

“No, since Poppy’s attack we have put in further security protocols so that agent’s homes are not traceable back to the agent.”

“Good, I will send someone for some clothes for us. Dismissed, Merlin.”

“Harry.”

“ _Dismissed_.”

Once Ian has left and Harry has taken a few moments to regain his composure, he sends a message to Eggsy glasses to contact him.  
Then he sits, and waits, and drinks, and fumes.

He understands Ian’s hesitation in telling him, but for Merlin not to tell Arthur, after all that has happened to Kingsman is beyond the pale. Even with the threat, at the beginning, being negligible, there were steps that could have been taken, should have been taken, and not taking them was not Ian’s decision, it was his.

His glasses ping.

“Arthur.”

“Arthur, it’s Galahad. You called?”

A small amount of tension leaves Harry’s shoulders when he hears Eggsy’s voice.

“Yes, there is a situation. Merlin, his team, and Statesman have uncovered a viable threat to you, and by association, the Princess, Merlin, and I. I am ordering you back to the Manor. As for your wife, she is welcome to come here with you, or you can send her to the palace for protection, until we have dealt with this.”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Harry feels that small bit of tension that released crawling back up his shoulders and neck.

“Galahad?”

“Right, yes. Can I share this with the Princess?”

“I suppose you must. Please assure her that she and you will be well protected. We will put eyes on the palace whether she is there are not although I do admit I will feel better if both of you are here.”

“I’ll let you know who to expect within the hour. Galahad out.”

Harry ends the connection and calls for one of the younger agents to make the long drive from the manor to London so that they can fetch the bags he and Ian keep packed for times like this. Then he shuts off the lights. If he’s going to be pissed and piss drunk, he’ll at least do it in his own rooms and in his fucking pajamas.

—————

Merlin makes his way to his and Harry’s rooms fourteen hours later. They eliminated all ten threats but they are no closer to figuring out who is behind it all. Ginger finally looped Champagne in and both Ginger and Ian had to endure the loudest dressing down from the man that Ian ever sat through, from anyone. The madder Champ got the thicker his accent became until he completely lost Ian as to what was being said. He said _Yes, sir_ and left Ginger to pick up the pieces.

All he wants now is a bed, Harry, and a drink in any order he can get them, although a drink in bed with Harry would be the optimum combination.

Once in the room he finds Harry in his shirtsleeves, a drink in his hand, a second next to him, reading in an armchair next to the window. His hair is loose but his lips are firm.

The drink bodes well.

The lips do not.

“We have taken care of all ten threats although we don’t have an identity for _Nadie_ ,” Ian says, sinking into the chair across from Harry, loosening his tie and reaching for the second drink. “I assume this is for me, or were you double fisting it tonight?”

“It’s for you. Morgana notified me that you were removed from Avalon and that I should expect you momentarily. Eggsy and the Princess arrived yesterday. They wanted to see you but I told them they would have to wait. I knew you wouldn’t leave until this was taken care of. They will join us for breakfast in the main hall in the morning.”

“And after that? Will we be staying here, all of us, for the time being?”

“I think we will give it a week to see if anything else appears, and if not, we will go home, though none of us will use the shop to come and go for the foreseeable future, so our commute just became unbearable. I have some of your techs preparing a flat for Eggsy and Tilde. They plan to stay until after the wedding.”

“That’s good. I was hoping you didn’t change your mind.”

“Of course not. Don’t be daft.”

“I can’t help it, after all, I’m marrying the boss. Can’t get much more daft than that.”

Harry laughs. “True. You do understand that this will not happen again, yes? You will inform me of the most minuscule details of anything that threatens Kingsman or our family immediately.”

“Yes, I didn’t want to have you worry over something that very well could’ve turned out to be nothing.”

“It is my job to worry about it, Ian. Just as it is your job to inform me. Not telling me you haven’t gone for your final fitting is one thing.”

“How?”

“Dagonet knows where his loyalties lie.”

“I’m going this week.”

“I know, and I know you didn't tell me so I wouldn’t fret about you being ready for the wedding, but Kingsman, Ian, that is not something you get to decide unilaterally. You don’t get to decide what I need to know, or do, or worry about. If you were angry about me making decisions about the wedding by myself, imagine if you will, how angry I am about _this_.”

“I know, Harry, and I have nothing to say for myself other than to apologize and promise to try to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“A promise to try? That’s it?” Harry asks, his eyebrows raised.

“I know myself well enough to make a promise I might not be able to keep, but I’ll try to pull my head out of my own arse if the situation presents itself again.”

“Good luck. I’ve been tugging on it for years and still haven’t been able to dislodge it.”

“Am I forgiven?” Ian asks, reaching over to grabs Harry’s hand.

“Mostly. You can earn the rest of the forgiveness by going to your final fitting tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it, Harry, I swear.”

“I know you will, you’ll go with Eggsy for his fitting tomorrow. He’ll be keeping you in line while Tilde and I are gone.”

“Gone? Where?”

“She and I are going for facials and some shopping. We've already have taken care of our wardrobes.”

“You can’t go alone,” Ian says, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Of course not. We will have her guards and Jason will also accompany us. We are safe now that Kingsman has eliminated the threat.”

“Not completely.”

“Enough for me to feel safe to leave.”

“Speaking of Jason, how has he been? I haven’t seen him other than to outfit him and send him on missions. Whiskey told me Jack’s fate and I was wondering how he was taking it.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Harry listens to Jack's fate and Ian see something pass over Harry’s face that he can’t quite parse.

“Oh, I am positive Jason's doing just fine for himself.”

—————

**Five months after the proposal**

Eggsy just slipped Tilde’s knickers off when his phone rings.

“Sorry, love, that’s Merls’ ring. Might be important.”

“No worries, Eggsy, although I hope you’re back before I finish and fall asleep,” she says as she puts her hand between her legs.

Eggsy’s phone rings again and Eggsy groans, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and mouthing _why??_

“You got Eggsy.”

“Eggsy,” Merlin says, “I need your help.” His voice sounds slurred.

“Is something wrong?” Eggsy asks as he puts on his jeans and pats down his pockets for his keys. He wonders if someone drugged Merlin. That would explain the slurring. Did that arsehole that threatened all of them get his hands on Merlin? Did he have Harry as well? “Where are you, do you know where you are?”

“Of fucking course I know where I’m at. I’m at the grimy pub a couple blocks over from you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Merls?”

“Don’t you dare call me _Merls_.”

“I fucking will call you Merls. I was in the middle of something, yeah?”

“Eggsy, while I’m sure Tilde enjoys your skills in the bedroom, or at least has the decency to pretend…”

“She ain’t pretending nothing, you bald prick,” Eggsy says, clenching his teeth.

“… she enjoys them, I’m also sure she could spare you for a few hours for me. Because she _loves_ me.”

“She loves fucking Harry and tolerates you.”

“Tilde told me at breakfast that I was her favorite,” Merlin belches, “Scot.”

“You’re the only Scot she knows, mate, and you’re fucking rank.”

“Only one or no, the statement still stands. Go ask her if she can spare you.”

Eggsy walks back into the bedroom just in time to see Tilde arch off the bed and sigh. He is going to fucking kill Merlin, swear the fuck down.

“Til, Merlin wants to fucking know if you mind if I go help him with something.”

She waves her hand at him. “That is fine, Eggsy. I have finished anyway.”

“See, lad, she didn’t need you after all. See you soon.”

Fuck his fucking _life_.

He finds Merlin in the back corner booth, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, with a notebook and three bottles lined up in front of him.

“Eggsy. So nice of you to come.”

“Yeah, it would have been nice to come instead of looking at your wrinkled scalp.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he says, raising his hand to signal the bartender. “Listen, I need your help with something important.”

His “something” comes out as “ssssomthn.”

“How many of those you had?”

“A few more than there’s on the table. But listen…”

“Yeah, I got to help you with something important,” Eggsy nods at the bartender when he sets a bottle down in front of him and grabs Merlin’s empties. “How about a glass of water for my friend?”

“I don't need fucking water.”

“You’ll drink a fucking glass of water before your next fucking pint or I’ll drag you back to Harry smelling like the back of a pub loo, got me?”

“Fucking fine. I didn’t miss this side of you, I’ll tell you that.”

“What’s so fucking important then? Or we going to play Twenty Questions.”

“I’m trying to write my vows to Harry.”

“What the fuck for? He’s the eloquent one.”

“Even though that’s true, it’s a little offensive,” Merlin says, giving him the stink eye. “I’m not a complete idiot. Even hold a degree.”

“Yeah, but you’re rough just like I am. Me and you don’t write vows and shite, that’s stuff for Tilde and Harry. We show our love through actions. They do too, but they’re just all,” Eggsy waves his hand in the air, “elevated and shit.”

“You’re surprisingly astute sometimes, lad.”

“I don’t hold a degree or nothing, Merls, but I ain’t stupid neither. Now, what do you have so far?” he asks, reaching for the notebook.

Which is blank.

“Nothing? Fucking hell, Merlin.”

“I know. What the fuck am I supposed to write. _Harry, I love you and am glad you chose me to be your husband. Thanks._ ”

“ _Harry, even though your taste in home decor is appalling, I’m still happy I get to look at you every day, especially when you make that face like you just found rat shit on the rug when I bring home a new computer,_ ” Eggsy says in Merlin’s accent.

Merlin throws back his head in laughter. “He makes that face a lot. Especially if you and I are in the same room.”

“Til has it almost perfected. I can’t tell if she’s just being cheeky when she does it or if I've pissed her off. How about this, _Harry when we first met I thought you were a pompous prick and thirty years later, you’re still proving me right._ ”

“ _Harry, when I ask you to marry me I was drunk. Sorry._ ”

“You weren’t!”

“No, I wasn’t,” Ian replies, laughing as he tries to drink his water.

“Seriously though, Merls, what do you want to say to him?”

“I want to tell him I love him, more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. That I will keep him safe, and care for him, and make sure he always knows that he, for all his many fucking faults, is the person I’ll always come back to. I want him to know that I was lost the moment I laid eyes on him and I haven’t found myself yet but everything I write sounds ham-fisted and dull. I can’t trot some bullshit out in front of Harry on our fucking wedding day, and not when his will be some Austenian speech that will make everyone cry.”

Eggsy nods because it will be some flowery speech that will make people cry, himself included.

“Everyone? How many people are going to be there. I can’t think of that many people that even like you two.”

“Fuck you, you little pissant. People love us, we’re just selective of how many people we allow to love us.”

“So not many attendees then?”

“No, thank fucking god. You, Tilde, Jason, Roxanne if she can make it, and a few others.”

“No Ali?”

“No, and it's not up for discussion,” Ian says, a low undercurrent of anger in his voice.

“Right, wasn’t going to say a word. Finish your drink, Merlin. Let’s get you home.”

“I haven’t written my vows yet.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You fucking write them when you're not piss drunk, and I’ll read them over and make sure you don’t sound like an arsehole, yeah?”

—————

Two days later Eggsy’s phone rings again, though at a much better time. Well, mostly a much better time. He’s trying to blink his way through a cuppa and not get his hands on Til’s bare arse, so he’ll count it as better.

“Fucking Eggsy,” he rasps.

“Eggsy, good morning. Would you like to join me for brunch?”

“I’m already eating,” he replies, grumpy as hell.

"I hardly consider cold cereal out of the box breakfast.”

“It’s in a bowl and I put some fucking milk on it, _dad_.”

“I wouldn’t have to act like your father if you acted like an adult, Eggsy,” Harry says. “Now, again, would you like to join me for brunch?”

“Fine. What fucking time?”

“In an hour and do try to remove the stick from your arse before you come over. I know Tilde wouldn’t have been so remiss to have left it there on purpose.”

“I’m gonna ram one of your fancy forks down… did you just hang up on me?” He stares at his phone, mouth open with milk dribbling out. He wipes it away with the sleeve of his robe. “He just fucking hung up on me. Fucking prick.” He dumps his tea out, he needs coffee for this. A pot.

Fifty-five minutes later Eggsy stands on Harry and Merlin’s front steps dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a button up because even if Harry is a fucking dick doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve some respect. Two of the royal guards wait in the car in front of the house. Eggsy scoffs at the idea that they could make him safer than he could, or failing that, being inside fucking Arthur and Merlin’s house could, but they make Til happy so he keeps his fucking mouth shut.

He knocks twice and waves at Mrs. Jacobs from two doors down, smiling when she scowls at him.

Nosy bitch anyway.

Harry opens the door and gives Eggsy an approving smile. “You are looking quite handsome today, Eggsy. Please come in. If you will go into the dining room and fix yourself a plate, I'll join you with tea and champagne.”

Eggsy stops when he got to the dining room. Eggs, sausage, bacon, scones, pancakes, fresh fruit, and an array of juices take up the entire sideboard.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?”

“What others?” Harry asks from the kitchen.

“Harry, you could feed half my old street on this. Fucking hell, don’t tell me we’re the only ones eating.”

“I’m afraid so. I drink when I am stressed, but since it was nine in the morning, I cooked instead. Thankfully you were available to come help me eat all this,” Harry says as he came through the door holding a tea tray.

“Christ, if you would’ve told me you had this much food, I would’ve rounded up Jamal and Liam and a fucking bag. But even high I don’t think we could eat all this.”

“Well, let’s at least make an admirable dent in it and then after, we could take the leftovers Jamal and Liam. Possibly see about that bag,” Harry says with a wink.

“Yes, Harry.” He takes a sip of his champagne. “So you going to tell me what’s stressing you out, Haz? I know you didn't have me all the way over to help you polish off some eggs.”

“I’m finding it hard to write my wedding vows.”

Eggsy stifles a groan.

“How the hell am I supposed to help with that?”

“Did you write yours to Tilde?”

“God, no. Her father gave them to me written on a card, told me to memorize them and then, because he wanted to put into terms I could understand, he told me to ‘not fuck it up’ or I’d spend the rest of my life in the basement and Til would spend the rest of her’s thinking I’d done a runner.”

“As if he’d be able to keep you there,” Harry beaming at him like a proud father.

“He doesn’t need to know that, yeah?”

Harry butters a scone. “I have an exceptional way with words,” Harry says as Eggsy rolls his eyes, “but while that is useful in getting marks to part with secrets and donors to part with their money, I want my vows to Ian to mean something. I cannot remember the last time I had to give a speech I meant.”

“So say that, what you mean, honest and meaningful, not something cribbed out of a shitty Victorian romance.”

“Will you help me?” Harry asked, and then did that innocent, blinky thing he always does to worm past someone’s defenses.

“I dont know who that eye works on Harry, but it ain’t me,” Eggsy says, laughing when Harry glares. “You write them, I’ll look them over and tell you if you sound like a twat.” He neglects to mention he will do the same for Merlin. Harry doesn’t need to know every fucking thing.

—————

**Six months after the proposal and one week before the wedding**

“I’m done with all of this,” Harry says, throwing his hands in the air before walking over to the sideboard for a few fingers of whiskey.

More than a few, Ian notes as Harry pours. Possibly an entire fucking hand.

“What is it this time, Harry? Done with being Arthur? Done with giving Eggsy etiquette advice?”

“Which he never bloody listens to.”

“Done with yelling at the new agents?” Which Ian fervently hopes he’s not because the sex on those days is fucking spectacular.

“I’ll never run out of things to yell at them about. I have never seen a more inept group of agents. In ten years they might be passable, but now? Christ, Ian, I was amazing at their age.”

“An amazing arse.”

Harry looks behind him and down, wiggling his hips at Ian. “It is, isn’t it? How kind of you to notice.”

“It is, but you were an absolute terror your first year. No respect for authority. Did things your way only, completely ignored your handlers…”

“Still sore about that?” Harry asks, laughing softly to himself.

“They act exactly as you did, as Eggsy did — though he got his shit together much faster than you, which I like to think comes from mine and Ali’s steadying influences — and as every newly minted agent does, like their suits are idiot-proof and their cocks, literals or metaphorical, are a foot long.”

Harry narrows his eye at him. “I did not act like my cock was a foot long. I didn’t have to, I know it’s massive.”

“Massive cock is often a term I use when describing you although I don’t think I have ever said it regarding your actual cock.”

“I take back my acceptance of your proposal. I was still under the influence of the gunshot to my head when I said yes.”

Ian slides behind him, wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, and kisses the side of his neck. “I love your cock, and the massive cock it’s attached to.”

“Why don’t you go find another landmine?”

“You say such romantic things. Now what was it you were moaning about being done with before we went on a tangent about idiot agents and cocks?”

Harry relaxes into Ian’s arms and lifts his glass so that Ian can have a drink.

“This wedding. It’s such a nightmare. I should have married a woman.”

“We could see if — god, what was her name? — is available. All I can remember is her code name, Elaine. I like the new one much better by the way.”

“Helen. Last I heard she married some Lord and popped out a respectable three children before he took up with his secretary, leaving her with the children and a decadent amount of money. Though I don’t blame him, his secretary was a gorgeous man from Iran and Helen was dreadful in bed.”

Ian laughs and finishes Harry’s whiskey for him.

Harry takes the glass back and refills it. “Let’s elope. We can run to Italy, get married there and then spend the following week consummating our marriage in disgusting and debauched ways.”

“Oh no, definitely not.”

Harry turns in his arms, his face shocked.

“I thought the idea would thrill you. You hate all of this.”

“I don’t hate it, Harry. It’s more than I would have liked, but I don’t hate it. Besides, if we did that you would moan about it for the rest of our lives. No, we are doing it, and we are doing all the fussy shit you’ve decided on and all the non-fussy…”

“Boring.”

“Boring shit I’ve decided on. It will be a complete clusterfuck because everything with us always is, but at the end we’ll be married and that’s all I care about.”

“We could get married just as easily in Italy. Or Morocco. Anywhere.”

“Fine, we can elope.”

“Excellent. I’ll book us tickets tonight.”

“But you can tell Tilde.”

Harry’s shoulders slump. “She’d string us up by our bollocks outside the palace. Even Eggsy couldn’t save us.”

“She’s do worse than that.”

“She would. She’s more excited about this than I am, and Eggsy, the little bastard, is having the time of his life.”

“He told me she thinks of us as Elizabeth and Darcy. I’m not sure who is who.”

Harry’s eyes go all misty and soft. “That darling girl, _Elizabeth and Darcy_. Well, now I know that I suppose we must have the wedding. Wouldn’t do to disappoint a Princess.”

“Or a Queen,” Ian says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips, sweet and chaste.

“Go fuck yourself,” Harry says, spinning out of Ian’s arms with the same deftness he had all those years ago when he was the green agent with the massive cock. “Or better yet, I could fuck you myself,” he calls as he runs up the stairs to their bedroom.

—————

Harry is almost nude by the time he reaches the door to the bedroom. He hears Ian thundering up the stairs behind him. He slips the last of his clothes off as he walks into the bathroom and turns on the taps to the tub.

Ian leans against the door frame, blatantly staring. “I thought you were planning fucking me?” Ian asks as he undresses.

“I thought a nice bath first, and then a nice fuck for afters?” Harry replies as he climbs in the tub. “Care to join?”

“Nothing I would love more.”

Ian sits at the ledge they had built next to the tub to remove his legs. Then he lowers himself in and leans against Harry’s chest. Harry immediately lathers up a flannel and washes Ian, enjoying the vibration of Ian’s pleased rumble against his chest.

“You were telling the truth earlier? You didn’t completely hate all of this?”

Ian smiles, eyes closed. “No, Harry. Not all of it. Not even half. Some of it is a little over the top, like the cake. It looks like a fountain. It’s absurd. And I hate fruitcake.”

“It’s tradition, and we have a dark chocolate groom’s cake for you.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

“You’ll have to at least take a bite. Spread those beautiful legs for me won’t you darling,” Harry says as he moves the flannel lower, “have to get you especially clean for what I have in mind. But as I was saying, you must have a bite of the wedding cake if only for tradition’s sake.” As he pulls the flannel back, he gives Ian’s cock a few slow pulls and delights in the way Ian’s head falls back on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you go wait for me in the bedroom while I finish up here?”

“Why don’t you put your hand back where it was for a few more minutes?”

“Good things come to those who wait, Ian,” Harry says before giving him a deep kiss.

Harry watches Ian reattach his legs and walk out of the room, his arse flexing and shoulders glistening.

Harry does not tarry.

Ian is facedown on the bed when he comes in, his legs slightly spread and his head pillowed on his forearms. Harry climbs on the bed behind him, gently settling his weight and letting his cock rest in the cleft of Ian’s arse. He kisses the back of Ian’s neck before scraping his teeth against it. Ian sighs and cants his hips up, causing Harry’s cock to to drag against him. They both groan, Ian into his arms and Harry into the soft skin of Ian’s broad back.

“Be still,” Harry says, “and let me get you read for my _massive cock_.” He drags his tongue and teeth down the middle of Ian’s back, his hands following down on Ian’s sides and then dipping under his stomach to scratch at the hair there. So close to where he knows Ian wants his hands, yet never touching him there. His hands come back up the just go his hips as his tongue teases at Ian’s tailbone before he spreads Ian open so he can drag his tongue lower.

“Oh my god. I’m never going to hear then end of… _fucking hell_. Yes, Harry.”

The benefit of being lovers for so long is that Harry knew the precise movements needed to make Ian come utterly undone. Long licks from his sack to his tailbone, sucking kisses over his hole, quick breaches with the point of his tongue, all done randomly to ensure that Ian never knew what was next until he was panting, rutting into the bed, begging Harry to stop, to never stop, to _just fucking fuck him already before he comes all over himself._

Harry leans up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Flip over for me, dearest, while I fetch the lube.”

He rolls to the side of Ian while he turns, reaching for the lube in the table next to the bed. When he rolls back, Ian is stretched out on his back, his hard cock resting on his stomach, and a gorgeous flush all the way down his chest.

“Have I mentioned that you are the most gorgeous man I have ever seen?” Harry asks.

“Once or twice. Now come over here and give me that fuck you promised me.”

Harry rolls back on top of him, their cocks sliding together, as they kiss. Ian’s hand slides between them to take them both in hand, pulling enough to keep things interesting but not enough to finish them.

“Fuck, how is it after all of these years it’s this good every time?”

“True love, I suppose,” Harry says between biting kisses. “I hope it will be this good when we are ninety.”

“We won’t be able to get it up when we’re ninety.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Harry says as he moves down Ian’s body. “Spread those legs for me one more time, Ian.”

He scoops lube out of the little jar in his hand and rubs his fingers against Ian’s loosened hole. As he does he places open-mouthed kisses to Ian’s cock watching as the man’s head falls back in the pillow, the way one hand grips the sheets under him while the other falls into Harry’s hair.

“Fuck, Harry, you’re killing me. _Please_.”

“Indulge me,” Harry says right before he closes his mouth over the head of Ian’s cock. Ian bucks up driving it further into Harry’s throat.

Harry makes his mouth loose and wet while he breaches Ian with his fingers. He thrusts them in and out but keeps his head still, all while looking up at Ian until Ian looks back. The hand in his hair tightens and then, slowly, Ian fucks his mouth and fuck back onto Harry’s fingers. In and down, in and down, until he is a writhing mess on the bed and Harry is sure, if he wanted to, he could keep adding fingers until Ian was coming on his entire hand.

Something to save for their wedding night he supposes.

Ian tugs Harry’s hair. “Now,” he pants, “in me, now.”

Harry crawls back up over Ian, guiding himself in with one slow slide until his hips fit snug against Ian’s arse. Ian groans as Harry fills him, his head falling back, and Harry leans down to bite at the tendons there as he thrusts.

Ian raises his hips, his knees drawing tight against Harry’s sides and all at once, Harry’s rhythm stutters as a small _he-he-he_ escapes him. Ian looks up at him in shock.

“Terribly sorry, I’m just a bit ticklish there,” Harry says, blushing.

And then they are both laughing, Harry still buried in Ian’s arse, Ian’s feet locked around his back. Harry tastes the laughter from Ian’s mouth, his heart pounding in his chest and just as quickly as it started it stops as Harry moves again. Laughter is replaced with grunts, with kisses, with _oh god, right there’s_ and _I love you so much’s_ and _harder, please, Harry, harder_.

And what can Harry do but give Ian what he asks for. He fucks in, harder, deeper, until the thighs at his side shake, until Ian is crying out his name and coming untouched between them, until Harry buries himself as deep as he can, coming so hard he is fairly certain he will pass out.

He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. His arms shake next to Ian’s head as he holds his weight off of him while they kiss and pant into each other’s mouths.

Ian’s legs unlock from his back and Harry rolls to the side.

“Fucking Christ, Harry, I can’t move. Your turn to clean up.”

Harry laughs and rolls back over to tuck his head under Ian’s chin. Ian wraps his arms around him, his nose in Harry’s hair.

“Give me a moment.”

They wake up the next morning, chilled because the bedding in on the floor, sticky because they never cleaned up, and smiling.

—————

**The Wedding**

Ian wakes in the room of the small bed-and-breakfast he and Harry are staying at. Harry, following the goddamn traditions he is so fucking fond of, spent the night in a separate room and has informed him they, under no circumstances, will see each other until they meet in front of the officiant.

Ian is less than amused. He slept like shit without Harry next to him. The morning suit he has to get himself into looks like something out of his own nightmares — although he has to admit he looks, as Eggsy would most likely say, _swag as fuck_ — and he still isn’t happy with his vows.

Someone knocks at his door. He pulls on his legs, grumbling.

He opens the door, already pissed because he doesn’t smell any food and he can tell by the stance it’s not Harry.

“Ali? What in the hell?” Ali stands there, tall and handsome in a three-piece suit, black with a purple waistcoat gleaming from inside the jacket. He smiles in a way Ian hasn’t seen him smile since before Ian went to Kentucky.

“Hello, Ian. Might I come in?”

Ian stands back, confused. “Of course, but why are you here?”

“I figured I would take one last chance to convince you to leave all of this behind and run away with me.”

“Ali, I…”

“I am _joking_ , Ian. Christ, will you ever be able to navigate life without a cup of tea first?” Someone else knocks at the door. “Perfect timing,” he says as he opens the door and takes the tray from the man standing outside. He fixes Ian’s tea, pushing him down into the chair and pushing the cup into his hand, and then fixes his own, taking a chair across from Ian.

“I still don’t understand what is going on.”

“I know, love, it’s okay. Drink that tea and get that stupendous brain working. And stop scowling, you look like my mother.”

“I’d kick you but there’s a good chance I’d break a bone.”

“I’ll thank you to refrain then.”

“And I’ll thank you to explain what you’re doing here.”

“Harry invited me.”

“I will kill him,” Ian mutters into his tea, already composing the argument in his head. It was soothing. Arguing with Harry was such a wonderful emotional release, almost as good as the makeup sex after. Almost.

“You will not, Ian. He was right to, and you were wrong to decide to _not_ invite me.”

“I was trying to be kind.”

“I know, and I appreciate that, but this was my decision to come or not. Harry brought me the invitation last month. I wasn’t sure, at first, if I would come. I wasn’t sure I could.”

Ian looks at his knees.

“But then I realized I couldn’t _not_ come. I will always love you, Ian. And part of me will always wish it was me you are marrying today. But I am moving on, healing, and if James was alive he’d be down in Harry’s room helping him get dressed instead of Eggsy, and I would be here helping you. So here I am.”

Ian utterly embarrasses himself by bursting into tears. Ali hands him a cloth napkin from the tea tray and then crouches down so he can hold him.

“I mean it, Ian. I am so happy for you and Harry, and so honored to be here for you right now. And if you every try to take an experience like this away from me again, I will glue your feet to the ceiling. While you’re wearing them. Understood?”

Ian nods against his shoulder. “Thank you, you have no idea how much this means.”

“I think I do. Besides, I needed an excuse to bring a plus one.”

“Oh,” Ian says, pulling away and composing himself, “who’s that?”

“Jason,” Ali says. “I said I was moving on.”

“Jason? Fucking Tequila? You have _got_ to be joking.”

“Not a bit.”

“How on earth did that happen?”

“He can be charming, and honestly, I was a little dazed from the hit to the head I took from a mission we were on. But it happened and I actually like him. He’s simple…”

“Simple minded,” Ian replies, laughing.

Ali swats his shoulder. “Hush, he is not. He’s just simple, and kind, and giving. He’s a breath of fresh air after you and James.”

“You’re an arse.”

“I know,” Ali says and kisses Ian’s forehead. “Now let’s see this suit.”  
—————

The venue they chose is the hill on which they were left all those years ago during the navigation trial. It appeals to Harry’s sense of tradition and Ian’s need for simplicity. Harry and Ian are led, blindfolded, Eggsy guiding Harry, Ali guiding Ian, to where the officiant stands, and placed facing each other. On Harry’s side of the officiant, Eggsy joins Tilde. Eggsy wears a purple velvet jacket, and Tilde is in a long black dress, a purple orchid in her hair. At Ian’s side stand two young women. One bald with dark skin that gleams in the sunlight. She smiles at the woman next to her and whispers something in her ear. She is wearing a black suit with a purple rose in the lapel. The other, whose ear she whispered into, is blonde and fresh-faced, and who is blushing and elbowing her girlfriend in the side, wears a deep purple dress, and carries a single black rose. No one knows who they are, but they are here for Ian and that’s enough.

There is a few chairs set in the grass. One is empty in hopes Roxanne will make it, and in the others Alistair sits down, joining Jason, Champagne, Whiskey, the newer, not the former. It’s a small wedding party, not as grand as Harry thought he needed but they are the people who know Harry and Ian, know the long road it took to get them back to this hill, to the night they first kissed, to the night they fell in love and were too stupid, or stubborn, or both, to realize it. It is more perfect, this wedding on a grassy hill, surrounded by their family, then Harry or Ian could have ever imagined.

—————

Ian feels the blindfold leave his eyes and he can’t open them fast enough to to look at Harry who is wearing an honest to god _kilt_. A kilt that is the McClaggen Tartan, it’s bright purple and green gorgeous against Harry’s black jacket and white hose. His kilt pin is a Hart.

“Harry, I don’t even have words. You honor me by wearing this, my clan’s tartan.”

“It’s my clan now too. And you, look at you, my handsome man, dressed in a traditional morning suit. You take my breath away, truly,” Harry says as he reaches up a hand to smooth Ian’s lapels. “I think _you_ honor _me_ by giving me what I longed for.”

The officiant clears his throat. “If you’re ready gentlemen?”

Harry smiles and nods. “I’ve been ready for years.”

“We have gathered here to celebrate the marriage of Ian and Harry. They join today, surrounded by those they love, and those that love them in return. There is no greater blessing for their union to have you here with us. Normally, this is where I would recite the vows, but Harry and Ian have written their own, and as they finish them, they will change their wedding rings. Well, Harry will give Ian his as Harry refused to take his off for the ceremony. Ian, if you would like to start us off.”

Ian takes Harry’s hands, his thumb caressing the ring that still sits on his finger. “In most wedding vows, the couple promises to love each other in good times and bad, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do them part. We don’t have to promise any of that, though, do we, because we’ve lived it.

“I have loved you in our good times, when we were together and trying so hard to make us work we ruined it with our own safe handling. I loved you in bad times when we could barely see the other without feeling as if we were ripping our hearts out. You loved me even though I was poor, impoverished of kindness and touch and I loved you because you were rich with it, so much so that you always had a surplus to share with me. We have loved each other through the sickness we have brought upon ourselves until we made ourselves well, both in heart and mind. We have loved each other through the deaths that parted us, first yours, and then mine, showing fate it cannot keep us from the other.”

Harry reaches up to brush the tears from Ian’s face with his hand and Eggsy steps forward to hand him and handkerchief. His gently wipes Ian’s face and then his own before Ian continues.

“So the promise I will make to you today is threefold. I will continue to love you like I always have, fiercely, and finally, unapologetically, until our final death comes. And when it does, if I am the one still here, I promise that I will not give up and follow you. I will continue to live, to keep our memories alive, to keep you alive in my heart, until it’s time for me to join you again. I will look forward to meeting you once more in our next life where I promise to love you even better than I did in this one.”

Since he doesn’t have a wedding ring to slip in Harry’s hand, he brings the ring, and the hand bearing it, up to his lips for a kiss.

“And now you, Harry?” the officiant prompts.

Harry dabs at his eyes once more and clears his throat.

“I never in my life expected to fall for someone as dramatically different from myself as you are. Where I am gracious, you are a grouch. Where I possess a desire for drama you wish nothing more than to be left to solitude and silence. We, as a couple, should be each other’s worst nightmares, and I suppose in a way we are. Our house is a mixture of toile, pieces of technology strewn on priceless tabletops, and decades old jumpers sleeping next to their handwoven, cashmere brothers.

“But most of all, we, the relationship of a thousand contradictions, and the house of a thousand more, are filled with love, and laughter, and thankfully, life. You keep me from becoming too full of myself, which, I admit, is a full-time job, and I, hopefully, keep you from sacking everything and retreating to a cave in the woods. You are the foundation I have built my life upon, and continue to every day, while I hope I am the home you can always feel safe and comforted in.

“From the very first moment I beheld you, Ian, my heart was irrevocably gone. I have yet to find it. Instead, I found yours in its place, and I vow to continue keeping it safe for you, as you do for me. I vow to make myself a man worthy of the care of that heart, and I promise to always push you to be the man worthy of caring for mine. The two of us should not work, but I have never been more grateful for anything in my entire life as I am of the fact we do.”

Harry pulls a silver ring out of his pocket. It is almost the same design as Harry’s but where Harry’s is black ceramic with platinum and oak bands, Ian’s is platinum, banded with black onyx and circuitry.

“Harry, Ian, with these vows, you have pledged yourself to one another. May you fulfill them and more, and may your love continue to grow and adapt. If you will seal your vows with a kiss…”

“Kiss me, _husband_ ,” Harry says to Ian, and he does. He does because he has ached for that word from Harry’s mouth for so long and thought he would never hear it. He does because he ached for that word from Harry’s mouth for so long and he thought he would never deserve it. But he has it now, deserves it now, and he knows what the word tastes like on Harry’s lips.

It tastes like joy.

When he can finally pull away, he takes Harry’s hand once more and turns to face their friends.

“May I present Harry Hart-McClaggen and Ian McClaggen-Hart,” the officiant says.

They receive a standing ovation.  
Roxanne appears and throws purple rose petals all over them.

As their friends move up to congratulate them, Harry leans in to him. “As happy as I am that you found someone to stand up for you, Ian, I have to ask where you came across two women I am positive are younger than Eggsy.”

“Amelda, Constance,” Ian says, waving them over, “may I introduce my husband. Harry this is Amelda and her girlfriend Constance. When I thought you were dead, I came out here to talk to you. They found me, an old man sitting on the damp grass, talking to his dead lover, and against Amelda’s better judgement, didn’t knock me on my arse…”

“I still haven’t decided if I was wrong or not.”

“Oh, I like her,” Harry says, shaking her hand and then Constance’s, whose he graces with a kiss to the back.

“They promised to bring flowers here every month for us.”

“And we have,” Constance says. “And we might even continue to do so. It’s a lovely walk.”

“We ain’t trudging up this damn hill once a month forever, Con. He’s fucking alive, we watched them get married. Our watch has fucking ended and all that.”

Constance glares at Amelda. “I like coming out here every month, and I didn’t see you complain last time, did I?” Harry grins as Amelda blushes. “We’ll come out until I say we’re done.”

“Welcome to the family ladies, I am positive you will fit in just fine,” Harry says and squeezes Ian’s hand.

—————

They rented a small building off the main street for their reception. Harry took in the bottom floor room with pride. Classical music played softly though hidden speakers. There was one large table, round, so that all of them could sit together, draped with a black cloth with a small centerpiece of platinum Harts and purple flowers that matched Ian’s, theirs now, tartan. Behind it stood one black rectangular table that held flutes of champagne, coffee, tea, and the wedding and grooms cake, the other, gifts. Three waitstaff, trainees at Ian’s instance as _Nadie_ had not yet been found, stand silently next to it. Low lights in the corners and a chandelier give the room an intimate feel.

“Harry, you did an excellent job.”

“I know, darling. Let’s sit. We can eat our cake and then sneak out the back to make out in the alley.”

Ian laughs. “Agreed.”

“Oh, shit,” Constance says, when she sees the gift table, “I left our’s out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m sure it can wait, dear, we aren’t going anywhere,” Harry says, taking her by the hand to pull her towards the table.

“No, I want to put it with the others, that way it’s there for pictures.”

“I wasn’t aware there would be pictures.”

“Of course there will be pictures, Ian. She’s fucking mad about them. I swear I have to pose for fifty fucking selfies a day, but it makes her happy.” Amelda shrugs.

“What are you going to do?” Ian shrugs.

“Fucking make them happy.”

“Too fucking right,” Harry says.

They had just sat down, Ian to his right and Eggsy to his left, and he had motioned for the trainees to start bringing the champagne around when the door to the room opened once more. In the low light Harry couldn’t see who it was.

“I thought I’d come give y’all my congratulations in person,” the man says as he came closer, guns in each hand held high, pointing at the table, his ten comrades behind him in a loose circle, one holding a gun to Constance’s head.

Amelda stands only to be pulled back into her chair by Eggsy. “Keep your cool, yeah?” he tells her quietly. “We won’t anything happen to her. Trust us.”

Amelda’s eyes look from Eggsy to Ian. Ian nods. She sits back down, her nails digging into her hands.

Jason groans. “Jack. You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Harry couldn’t have said it better himself.

—————

 _Fucking got you didn’t I_? Jack thinks as he watches all those fuckers at wedding table look at him in confusion as he entered and then in slow dawning comprehension as he stepped into the light. Months he had been working on this, laying the traps, letting some be found to allow a false sense of security, all leading up to this.

“Jack,” Champagne asked, “what in the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to get some of my own back, Champ, from all you fuckers that took everything from me.”

“You took it from yourself,” Jason answers, “the minute you put your own desire for revenge over Statesmen, over the lives of others.”

“A bunch of fucking addicts. Who would’ve missed them? Any of them?”

“And me?” Jason asks, standing as three of the guns behind Jack trained directly on him.

The man Jack didn’t know grabbed Jason’s hand and tried to tug him back. _So that’s how it is,_ Jack thought. _Jason just couldn’t wait to bend over for these British assholes._

“Did I deserve to die?” Jason continues. “Would you have missed me?”

“Still broken-hearted over me while you sit next to your new beau? I wonder how that makes _him_ feel, knowing you’re still thinking about my cock while you’re riding his. Yeah, Jase, I would have missed you, but if losing you meant getting those scumbags off the street, I was willing to do it.”

“You fucking…”

“Enough,” Butter says, standing as well, though Jack supposes he should call him Arthur now, not that he’s going to. “What do you really want Jack?”

“What do I want? I want my fucking life back.”

“Too bad.” Whiskey says. And that fucking sticks right in his craw. Someone else with his name, the name he earned. “How d'you withstand the wipe, anyway? We’ve watched you.”

“There’s a nurse in medical, she’s always been a little sweet on me, and since her brother overdosed on heroin last year, her and I found some common ground. She told me what was coming — I thank you for begging for my life, Jase, it is much appreciated — and gave me a little shot that allowed me to keep my memories. I just had to act like I was happy to shovel shit all day and let you assholes think everything was just fine and dandy. But now it’s time for me to take my life back. I’m sick of being _no one_.”

“Fucking Christ, you’re _Nadie_ ,” Merlin says.

“Took you long enough, Merlin. Just like you took long enough to crack my codes and find my men, the ones I wanted you to, anyway. I’ve been planning this for months. I wasn’t sure how I would get y’all together but imagine my happy surprise when I hear you and Butter was getting _married._ Y’all ought to be fucking thankful I’m going to let you die as husbands.”

“ _No one_ is dying here,” Merlin says, “ _and_ his friends.”

The room goes dark.

—————

Everyone’s glasses instantly switch to night vision. Ian looks to his left to make sure Jason and Champagne have theirs and he sees Eggsy hand Tilde a pair of her own. They are patched through to Avalon.

 _“In your ears, ladies and gentlemen,”_ Elaine says. _“I have remotely taken over the power grid for the building. Blueprints to the building including the two upper floors are downloading to your glasses now. In three minutes I am flooding the room with light. Your glasses will shield you from the glare giving you one minute, approximately, before these arsehole’s eyes adjust. I suggest you all spread out to the rooms upstairs to force them to separate. Please tap your glasses to confirm you understand.”_

 _Give me a moment, Elaine,_ Ian types out with eyes on the glasses interface.

“Can’t stay in the dark forever, assholes,” Jack calls out. “Even with your fancy glasses, too many chances for you to hurt one of your own. Why don't you act like fucking men about this? Turn the lights on or the pretty one will be a lot _less_ pretty.”

Ian quietly slides over to where Amelda sits blind in the dark. She jumps when he touches her shoulder, but to her credit, she doesn’t make a sound. Ian touches Eggsy’s shoulder to get him to lean in and then he pulls her head close to his and whispers into her ear. “In just a few moments this room will be flooded with light. You will close your eyes when I am done talking.” He takes her hand and wraps it around the tail of his jacket. “You will hold on to this and follow me upstairs. Eggsy will stay down here, under the table, and when Jack’s men follow us, he will get Constance.”

“I ain’t fucking leaving her, mate.”

“You fucking are, you are going to fucking listen because that is how we save her and you, or I can knock you out and drag you up. Your choice.”

He feels her hand tighten on his jacket. “Fucking prick.”

“Yeah, he is,” Eggsy whispers back, tucking under the table, “but he knows what he’s about.”

“You got thirty seconds before we blow this bitch away.”

 _Follow Elaine’s instructions. Scatter upstairs as soon as the lights turn on._ He taps his glasses, and the chandelier explodes from the power surge.

They move quickly, Alistair, Roxanne, and Jason in front of Tilde, Harry, Ian, and Amelda, with Champagne, Whiskey, and the three trainees bringing up the rear. At the top of the stairs on the second floor, the trainees break off when Harry points them into separate rooms. They nod in unison and step into the first room, melting into the natural shadows. Whiskey and Champagne step into one of the two remaining rooms, with Roxanne taking the third. The rest of them continue up.

—————

Eggsy flips the table up, intending to use it for cover, and almost clotheslines himself with the wires some bald fucker put under it. Explains how the room went fucking dark. And here Eggsy thought he was a real wizard for a quick second.

“Jack said you were some big bad spies or some shit. Look at you hiding behind a table like a fucking pussy. This bitch put up more of a fight than you are.”

“Watch who you’re calling bitch, you tiny...” Constance’s insult cuts off.

“Why don’t you let her go and we can get down to it, yeah? Or does it make your dick bigger when you hit unarmed women?” Eggsy asks while he inches his glasses up over the table ledge just enough to get a quick snapshot of the room.

_Looks like everyone else followed the rest of the party Galahad. In his right hand he has a run of the mill semi-automatic, in his left, the civilian. Her vitals read normal, and she appears unharmed save for a few bruises. However, she is too close for a clean shot, try to draw him away from her._

Eggsy doesn’t reply. Elaine doesn’t expect him to. Anything he says will just echo off the fucking walls of this fucking huge room Harry reserved for less than twenty people. Because he’s fucking Harry.

Eggsy pops to his feet. He squeezes off one shot in the asshole’s kneecap. Eggsy’s intention was for him to drop, which would cause him to let go of Constance and leave himself open for a kill shot. _Easy_ fucking _peasy._

The table is too tall to leap over, after all it is Arthur’s Roundtable, so Eggsy comes around the side just in time to see Constance pick up the gun he dropped when Eggsy bullet took his knee out and see her put a bullet though the fucker’s brain.

“Fucking hell,” he says.

“My Da is MI6.”

“Don’t tell Ian that, he’ll have a heart attack.”

“Oh, I’m sure I won’t have to. When Da hears about this, he’s gonna have kittens and send you lot the whole bleeding litter.”

“Fucking glad I live in Sweden. Follow me and bring the gun.”

—————

Kevin will not piss himself. He is not. He is a Kingsman trainee. If he gets out of this, protecting Arthur, Merlin, and even the goddamn _Princess_ , they’ll probably just boot him right to the head of the table. Arthur will be his mentor. He will be forever grateful to one of the men who helped save him and husband’s life on their wedding day. His codename will be treasured and there will be a portrait of him on the walls of the manor _before_ he dies instead of after. He can almost feel that suit against his skin and the soft breasts of the honey pots he’ll get sent on. Just got to keep it together and come out on top, just got to stay…

Kevin doesn’t even hear the shot that kills him.

—————

Thomas and William watch from their corners as they see Kevin fall to the floor, the shot barely making a sound as the bullet leaves the silencer. Neither of them so much as flinch. The shooter steps into the room, but with the limited light coming from the hall - Kevin, in his one act of forward thinking, had knocked the bulb out when they walked in — the woman who killed Kevin can’t see them. William makes a sound from his corner, his gun butting against the wall. As she turns and shoots at the direction of the sound Thomas steps behind her, driving his knife into the base of her skull, and catching her body before it hits the ground. William smiles at Thomas, his white teeth bright as his serving jacket against his dark skin. Thomas files away the thrill it gives him at the base of his spine as something to ponder later, nods once, and they advance into the hall.

—————

Roxy is fucking pissed. For months she’s been in deep cover playing the simpering socialite girlfriend to some drug lord’s son. She shopped, she had her nails done; she walked around in clothes that showed more of her skin than that little fucker, _and_ his goddamned father, should’ve ever been allowed to see. She let him stick his tiny cock in her, acted like she didn’t want to cut it off and choke him with it. She is wearing a gorgeous dress that cost a fortune, which she’s charging to Arthur, thank you very much sir, since it will get ruined. She was supposed to come in to see her friends married, enjoy a little champagne and some damn grooms cake — you couldn’t persuade her to touch that nasty wedding cake with a gun to her head, if you could even get close enough to get a gun to her head — but no. Now she’s suctioned cupped to a ceiling while she waits for some idiotic fucks to traipse into the room so she can take out her frustrations on them.

God, she hopes there’s at least two.

There is.

—————

Champagne curses the fact he listened to Jason, the damned fool. Jack should have been put down when he had a chance but Jason had made a good case, a case Champ wanted to listen to because he still saw that hot-head asshole he pulled off a bar floor ten years prior and turned into a damn good agent. So he listened and now here he was, ruining Merlin and Harry’s fucking wedding. Champ will drown Jack in a barrel of shit whiskey when they get out of here. If Jack even lives that long. The look on Merlin’s face said he wouldn’t. And that was just fine too.

Someone blocks the door while Champ is stewing in his anger, surprising him and allowing the person to get a shot off before he reacts. He sees Whiskey move towards him, yelling his name. It puts her right in front of a window that blows inwards as another one of Jack’s friends swing in, getting Whiskey around her waist and taking her to the floor.

 _Getting slow, old man,_ he thinks as the bullet rips through him.

—————

The top floor is one large room, the only light comes through the windows. There are pieces of furniture in it, all covered in dust cloths, and two closets towards the back of the room. Even though she can see, Amelda hasn’t let go of Ian’s jacket, though she probably hasn’t thought to.

Jack, and however many of his men are left, are seconds behind them.

“Amelda, get in one of the closets in the back.” Ian lifts a trouser leg and pulls a knife out of his leg.

“Who the fuck are you people?” Amelda asks, but she’s not scared, she’s _interested_ , and Ian breathes a little easier.

“If you want to know, do as I say,” he says. “If anyone you don’t recognize opens the door, stab in and up,” he pantomimes with the knife before pushing it into her hand. “Go.”

Amelda looks like she will argue, but she doesn’t, instead slipping past him and into the closet.

“Tilde,” Harry says, “I think it would be best if you took the other closet. I assume I need not explain how to kill someone.”

“You are still out of your head if you think I am hiding away while these fuckers come after us.”

“You are the Crown Princess of Sweden, I do not need your death on my hands.”

“I am, so I outrank you. I am standing here. With you. And I don’t need a demonstration unless you would like me to give _you_ one.”

Harry inclines his head. He then shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to her. “Permit me this then, wear my jacket for protection. I assure you, my shirt will be protection enough for me.”

She takes it and puts it on. “Always the gentleman,” she answers while Harry preens. And he should. Harry in his shirtsleeves and the kilt is truly a sight to behold, Ian thinks. Pity he’s beholding it now when there’s nothing to be done about it. Later, perhaps.

Ian, Ali, and Jason stand in front. Jack will go through them first before he even thinks of getting to Harry and Tilde. Alistair has a knife in one hand and his gun in the other, Jason has his whip and gun holstered behind his back, and Ian has a gun, but he also has a few tricks up his trouser legs if need be. He pushes off his shoes and kicks them to the side.

Jack walks into the room with four of his men flanking him. His gun is still in his hand, carried loosely, but it’s not pointing at them. His four friends though, one woman and three men, fan out and take up attack positions behind him. Their six to his five, the odds are in their favor Ian supposes, but he’d prefer better ones.

“Jase,” Jack starts, “I’ll still let you walk away from this. I feel I owe you at least that.”

“The only way I’m walking out of here is when I step over your dead body, asshole.”

“Fair enough. How about you?” Jack asks, looking at Alistair, “I don’t know your name but since you’re the one fucking my old piece here, I think that makes us friends.”

“It’s Percival, and friends are the last thing we are.”

“Listen, I just want those Butters and his bald husband, and the boy if he’s still alive. You and Jason and the Princess can walk, ain't got no beef with Sweden. Princess,” he says, tipping his hat.

“Suck my cock, asshole,” Tilde says.

Jack grins. “Does Eggsy? Bet he does. Bet he sucks it good. Maybe I’ll find out when all y’all are dead. Maybe we’ll _all_ find out.”

“You wish.”

“Well, I guess we'll have to do this the hard way,” Jack says and raises his gun.

Ian stomps his foot down causing dart versions of the signet ring to fly from the toes of his left foot. One finds its mark, the woman on the far left taking the dart straight to the face and dropping to the floor. Ian raises his gun and pulls the trigger, the bullet following her down.

—————

At the sound of Merlin’s gunfire, Jason launches himself at Jack, whip unfurling and turning blue. It grabs the gun in Jack’s hand and slices it in half.

“Should have shot me, you fucking idiot,” Jack says.

“I wanted the pleasure of beating you to death with my bare hands,” Jason says as his fist slams into Jack’s face.

Jack staggers back, spitting blood and laughing at him. “You stupid shit,” he says, righting himself, “always letting your fucking emotions drive instead of your brain.”

“Not anymore. This time I ain’t begging for your life. This time you’ll be begging me for it.” Jason hits him again, this time in the stomach, again in the face, in the ribs, driving Jack back, back, back to the wall until he has Jack against it, his face bloody and Jason’s hands around his throat.

“Beg, Jack.”

“They make your suit knife proof yet?” Jack asks just as Jason feels a sharp pain in his left side. Jack’s wrist twists and Jason cries out. He’s the one stumbling back now, falling on the floor, blood seeping out through his fingers.

“Should’ve taken me up on my offer,” Jack says right before he drives his fist into Jason’s face.

—————

Alistair sees Jason fall and his heart stops. Just for a moment. That’s all he has because then he’s got his back to Harry’s and they are both in front of Tilde who they've crowded into a corner while she curses them in Swedish.

“She is the main priority for protection, Percival. Understood? And if I do not make it out, you get to be the next Arthur,” Harry says to him in Italian.

“I can speak Italian,” Tilde hisses.

“I guess we know who wears the pants in their marriage,” Alistair replies in Romanian and the fires at the two shooters they have pinned down behind a table but who also have them pinned in the corner. “And understood, although I would like to formally lodge my displeasure with the order.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Harry says, returning fire. Alistair laughs underneath his breath until he feels Harry twitch and sag against him.

“Grab him,” he says to Tilde and steps forward as the two gunmen approach. Bullets slam into his chest and legs, the suit stopping their fatal trajectory but not stopping the bruising power behind them. Ian fights in the corner.

Alistair is the last line of defense. He fires.

—————

Ian sees Harry on the ground, Tilde bent over him and Ali taking a full barrage of bullets. The fucker he is fighting with — hand to hand, both guns lost and on the floor where neither of them can get to them — laughs in his face.

“Guess that makes you a widow.”

Ian knocks him back with a fist to his chin and then plants his foot into the man’s chest with enough force it goes through his ribcage, killing him instantly. He shakes the corpse off his foot. He turns to rush to Harry, stooping to pick up his gun, when an arm slithers around his neck and a knife point presses against his temple.

“Not so fast Merlin,” Jack says, “drop the gun, or this knife goes straight into your brain. You’ll be with him soon enough.”

“Not fucking likely, arsehole,” Ian hears Eggsy say as Jack seizes behind him, Eggsy’s signet ring taking him down.

As Jack falls to the floor Ian sees Roxanne fly past him, running like a gazelle in her stilettos towards Ali. The heads of the gunmen that were advancing on him explode. One from a shot from Ali, the other from Roxanne. She doesn’t stop running until she hits his arms, and while Ali grimaces in pain, he wraps catches her.

Eggsy is zip-tying Jack’s wrists and legs so violently the skin breaks.

Constance comes in yelling, “Amelda?”

Amelda flies out of the close.

Ian goes to Harry.

Ian always goes to Harry.

—————

_Extraction is coming now Arthur. Helicopters will land in the parking lot behind you in ten minutes._

Elaine’s voice is the first thing Harry hears when he comes around. His head rests and Tilde’s lap with a torn piece of her dress pressed to the wound on his right temple.

Fuck, he almost lost his other damn eye. Ian will _kill_ him. He places his hand over her’s. “Thank you Tilde, I believe I have it from here.” He stands, staggering a little. “We will need a clean-up crew as well, Elaine.”

_Dispatched with the medical team, Arthur._

“Excellent, thank you,” he says, just as Ian reaches him.

“Fucking hell, Harry. What is it with you and head shots?” Ian is peering at him, moving his hand and the fabric away, inspecting the wound, and then pressing his hand back hard enough that Harry winces.

“Yes, thank you, Merlin. Let’s figure out what the fuck we have here and then you can mother hen as much as you would like. Check on Tequila. Lancelot has Percival.” Harry strides into the middle of the room. “Galahad, what is the situation downstairs, where are the rest?”

Eggsy stands up, accidentally kicking Jack in the back of the head.

“William and Thomas are helping Whiskey and Champagne. They shot Champ in the gut and he might need some…”

“I don’t need no fucking help boy,” Champ says as he comes into the room, supported by Thomas and William, who help him into the chair Whiskey just removed a dust cloth from.

“Right. Champ doesn’t need any fucking help then,” Eggsy continues. “All hostiles are dead. Kevin, a trainee, is dead. Constance is the daughter of an MI6 executive, which will be a fun fucking problem for you, Arthur, and she’s a vicious fucking shot.”

“Constance?” Amelda asks.

“I’ll explain later, love,” Constance answers, kissing Amelda's forehead.

“Wonderful,” Harry says.

“We need to get Tequila to medical, he’s still bleeding.”

Amelda goes to where Ian is knelt down. “Let me,” she says pushing against Ian, who doesn’t move.

“Let you do fucking what?” Ian asks not budging an inch.

“Let me do my fucking job. I’m a paramedic so nows the time _you_ listen to fucking _me_.”

Amelda pulls apart Jason’s shirt and working on him. Roxanne helps Alistair over and settles him next to Jason. His hand reaches for Jason’s and he leans close to Jason’s ear, murmuring something. Jason is pale, but he smiles and murmurs something back that makes Alistair blush.

Jack groans from his place on the floor. Eggsy grabs him by the hair, pulling him to his knees. “Out of all your fucking men, you’re the only one left Jack.” Eggsy shakes Jack’s head with the fist he has in his hair. “Bet you won’t be alive for much longer.”

Jack spits on Eggsy’s shoe.

“You little fucking cunt,” Eggsy says and pushes Jack’s head down, using it Jack’s cheek to wipe the spit off.

“What do you want done with him, Champ?” Harry asks.

“No offense, gentlemen,” Jason pipes up from the floor, “but I begged for his life. Champ granted it, so that makes it mine.”

Champ pulls a cigar out of his pocket. “Boy’s got a point,” he says, running his nose down its edge. Whiskey plucks it out of his hand and throws it on the floor, crumbling it under her boot. “Not a chance, _sir_.” Champ glares. Whiskey glares back.

“Help me up.” Jason struggles to sit up.

“I really don’t recommend that,” Amelda says as she pushes him back to the floor.

“Ma’am, I appreciate you patching me up and all, and I ain’t one to disrespect a lady, but I have to recommend you let me off of this goddamn floor.”

Amelda sits back. “Suit yourself, arsehole.”

“I will, thank you.”

Ian and Alistair stand with him, supporting him on either side. He reaches back to pull the gun out of his back holster and they make their way towards Jack. Eggsy lets go of him and steps away as they approach.

“You going to shoot me now Jase? Finally found your balls then, boy? I don’t think you have, I think you left them some…” The back of Jack’s skull blows out in a gorgeous spray of blood, brain,and bone fragments.

Jason, with the help of Ian and Alistair, steps over him without so much as a downwards glance.

—————

Twenty-four hours later, Harry is sitting in his office, rubbing his one temple, because the other has a bandage, while Constance’s father threatens to bring the full weight of MI6 down upon Kingman’s head, which considering he is the top executive there is a credible threat, until Harry quietly reminds him of the time Kingsman helped them dig out of the Silva mess.Moreover, they also helped install him in his current position, whose code letter also matches his last name, after which the yelling quiets down. Some.

Harry wonders about the phone call Kingsman will receive when he finds out his darling girl has joined Kingsman as a handler. Luckily Alistair, as acting Arthur, will deal with that because Harry will be, joyfully, on his honeymoon with his new husband in an as of yet undecided location. The one they had planned, in the U.S. on one of the Statesman ranches, has decidedly lost its lustre. Champ, Whiskey, and Jason aside, Harry cannot bring himself to look at another fucking cowboy right now.

He hangs up the phone and is reaching for the scotch when his door opens. Only two people have the bollocks to enter his office without knocking and Harry sincerely hopes it’s Eggsy.

“I really hope you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”

_Shit._

“Not at all Ian, I was dusting the bottle.”

“With what, your tongue?” Ian asks as he sits. “You could pour me one, however.”

“So cruel to drink in front of your husband when he cannot.” Harry does not miss how Ian’s eyes, as tired as they are, brighten at the word _husband_.

“In fact I am, especially when said husband gets himself shot in the fucking head on our wedding day. Thank you,” Ian says, taking his glass while Harry looks mournfully at his glass of ice water _._ The absolute _indignity_ of it all.

“It’s not as if I did it on purpose.”

“I’m making you bulletproof headgear. You won’t leave home without it.”

“Hardly. It will ruin my hair. Besides, I have fans, Ian, fans with expectations, and I will not disappoint them by denying them the sight of my lovely face.”

“Christ, shut up. My legs aren’t shit-proof and it’s already deep as hell in here. Why are you rubbing your head?”

“I just got off the phone with Constance’s father.”

“Went that badly, hmm?”

“Did our Constance mention her last name?”

“She did it’s Mallory. Bloody fucking hell, surely not _the_ …?”

“The one and the same.”

Ian swallows the rest of his drink and comes behind Harry’s chair, helps him out of his jacket, kisses the undamaged temple above his eye patch strap, and rubs his shoulders.

“If I hadn’t already, I’d marry you,” Harry says with a sigh of pleasure.

“That’s me doubly lucky then. How’d he take the news she was joining our ranks?”

“I didn’t tell him. Alistair, as acting Arthur, can field that bomb. Which, knowing M the way I do, it might be an actual bomb.”

“Does Ali know this?”

“He will soon.”

“Tell him over the phone, I don’t want to have to take him down when he tries to kill you.”

“How is everyone else fairing?”

“Amelda has also agreed to come on in medical under the condition she would to go to medical school, on our dime if she so chooses.”

“Agreed.”

“Beat you to it. I wasn’t letting those two out of our hands if I had to promise to pay their families for life. I marked them as candidates the day I met them, though I would’ve liked to see them join under better circumstances. Jason is still fighting an infection but Dr. Marlow is confident he will make a full recovery, mostly because she wants him out of there yesterday. Champ was luckier, he’s being released tomorrow. The bullet went straight through and Whiskey has promised to make sure he convalesces properly. From his look of horror, I’m positive she will. William and Thomas, or soon to be Ector and Geraint, are ready to be sworn in.”

“Let them know it will happen when we get back from wherever the fuck we are going, until then they may consider themselves on vacation.”

“Noted. Roxanne informed me we owe her an ungodly sum for her dress, which her her words is ‘completely fucked.’ I think we should keep her away from Eggsy, she’s talking like him. Currently, she is sitting with Ali who is high as a kite on painkillers. Come to think of it, now might be the best time for us to inform him of his temporary promotion.”

“If nothing else he should be entertaining. It’s the only time he untwists himself enough to act like a human.”

Ian laughs as he digs into a knot behind Harry’s left shoulder blade. “You know, this would work better if you were naked.”

“What an excellent idea. Is the door locked?”

“What’s it need to be locked for?” Eggsy asks as he and Tilde stroll in.

“Impeccable timing as usual,” Ian says.

Harry sighs again, only not in pleasure. “Still haven’t learned to knock, I see.”

“Nope. Were you two about to fuck in Arthur’s office?” Eggsy asks, looking at them. “Oh my god, you were. I have to say,” Eggsy continues, putting on his poshest of accents, “I am appalled at the lack of decorum here since I left. Appalled, truly. I should stay on longer just to whip this place back into shape.”

“Eggsy,” Tilde interrupts.

“Yes, dear?”

“Shut up so we can say goodbye and leave them alone.”

“Right.”

Harry and Ian come around the desk to them.

“Tilde, you know _you_ are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Harry says as he hugs her.

“Thank you, but I am taking Eggsy back to Sweden to give you, and Kingsman, some peace and quiet.”

“Oi! I’m right here.”

“Yes, unfortunately we can see that.”

“Fuck you, Merlin.”

“Anyway,” Tilde continues as she hugs Ian, “we wanted to come by to say goodbye and give you your wedding gift. Oh, I had the others removed from the reception from hell and moved to your home.”

“Thank you Tilde, thinking of that was more than enough of a gift,” Harry says.

“Nonsense. Eggsy told me you didn’t have a honeymoon planned.” She removes an envelope from her coat and hands it to Harry. “Now you do.”

Harry opens it. “Tilde, there must be a mistake, this is a property deed.”

“It is, to a cabin in the Alps. It is yours and Ian’s from Eggsy and I. Eggsy has had it completely equipped with Kingsman security and it's linked to Avalon by a one way, voice activated command that only you can start.”

“This is too much. We can’t take this,” Ian says.

“You can, and you will. I am the next Queen of Sweden. You will deny me?”

“She plays that fucking card _all_ the fucking time, mate,” Eggsy says, _sotto voce_. “ _I’m the next Queen of Sweden, Eggsy, now shut up. I’m the next Queen of Sweden, Eggsy, now rub my feet._ I imagine it's a lot like being married to Harry.”

“You’d imagine right,” Ian answers.

“Say ‘Thank you, Tilde’ and promise the next time you go there you will invite us.”

“Thank you Tilde,” Harry says.

“And we will,” Ian finishes.

They hug them both one more time and then they are gone.

Harry smiles, somewhat sad, as the door shuts behind them. He retrieves his jacket and tucks the envelope inside. “Well, that’s one problem solved. Shall we go see Alistair before we leave?”

“Are you sure you want to tell him to his face?”

“He’s on painkillers. It will be fine, Ian, trust me.”

—————

When they get to Ali’s room, Harry tells Ian to let him go in alone.

“Harry, you absolute cunt, get in here and give me a hug,” Ali slurs as the door opens. Ian laughs to himself and leans against the wall to wait for Harry to call him in. He can hear the murmur of Harry, Roxanne, and Ali speaking.

The door flies open and once more Ali says “Harry, you absolute cunt.” Only know he is yelling and Harry running.

“Come on, Ian, before he figures out where his gun is.”

Ian looks into the room as the door is closing and sees Roxanne trying to keep Ali in bed.

“Ian, get in here and help me up so I can kill him,” Ali yells.

Ian laughs and runs after Harry.

He runs after his _husband._

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would leave the boys some privacy on their honeymoon, _for now_. I keep telling myself that this series is finished, so I am going to mark it so, but even I think I'll be back to check in on these two again very soon.
> 
> The [MacLaggen Tartan](https://www.tartanregister.gov.uk/tartanDetails?ref=2589) that I used as inspiration for Ian's clan tartan. I thought the names were close enough.
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone, and continuing to love all these characters as much as I do. 
> 
> And, as always, a reminder that I do most of my writing and self-editing when I am on my meds, so please point out anything I might have missed. I always appreciate it.
> 
> Come see me on [tumblr](http://violyntfemme.tumblr.com).


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